


Through Our Eyes

by Daryl_Alenko



Series: Oblivious Verse [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Differentiating Opinions, Everyone Reacts to Sterek, M/M, Pack Feels, Sequel, Seriously Derek and Stiles are SOOO FLUFFY and CUTE!, Special Guest Appearance, fluffy couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-25 09:52:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12033441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daryl_Alenko/pseuds/Daryl_Alenko
Summary: Sequel to ObliviousAfter turning every other member of the pack down, Stiles and Derek are -finally- together! This is their relationship through the eyes of others.





	1. Lydia

**Author's Note:**

> So! This is the sequel to Oblivious. After getting so many wonderful comments and encouragements, I just had to do it.
> 
> Each Chapter will be from a different character's Point of View! So, the opinions about Stiles and Derek, and their relationship, will be different depending on the character.

* * *

There are a dozen different errands she should be running. A dozen different things that require her sharp mind to focus on. However, even the smartest, most popular girl in school needs a moment to herself! A small break, if you will, to re-evaluate her life choices. 

Beginning with the virtual insanity that must have seized her when she consciously made the decision to ask out Stiles Stilinski. While she may no longer be the Queen Bee of Beacon Hills High School, she resides several levels higher than the weird misfit that has the dubious honor of being the Sheriff's son. For this reason alone, she never should have considered attempting such a foolish thing. It had to have been a temproary leave of sanity, that is the only explanation. (And now that said moment has passed, she is fully in control of her mind and knows that she would never be so ridiculous as to repeat this mistake. And no, it has nothing to do with the humiliation of being turned down by a loser, thank you very much.)

So, she has treated herself to a day of pampering. Beginning with a long, leisurely morning at the spa, followed by mani-pedis and ending here, at a fancy french restaurant who's name is basically pointless. The only thing she cares about is that it is expensive, trendy, and easy for someone with her stature to get a table. Sure, it's a little painful to be eating alone or whatever, but again .. treating herself. 

She settles into her chair, tossing her hair over her shoulder as the overly polite waiter offers her a menu and asks if she wants wine. Is she old enough? No. Would they bother carding her? Of course not. She's a Martin, after all. She orders a glass of something expensive and red, like her mood, and leans back in her seat with the menu cracked open in front of her.

"I, uh, I'm not trying to be .. mean or anything baby, but maybe you should let me order for you?" Lydia nearly drops her menu, fingers curling tight around the large, folded item when she recognizes the voice. When on -Earth- did Derek Hale learn how to use such a term of endearment like -baby-!? Or have someone to use such a term -on-, for that matter!?

"Wow, that sounded about eleven percent condescending, babe." The menu drops from suddenly lax fingers, spilling onto the floor as she tries to remember how to perform such basic functions as **breathing**. Because of course, the playful words come from none other than the -loser- she has been ~~moping~~ over all day. "But, come on, we wouldn't be -us- without that percent, right?" The playfulness has become a soft sweetness that makes something deep inside Lydia ache. 

Jackson had never said anything so kind and caring to her, even in his own way. They never had moments of tenderness like this, not the entire time they had dated. Some small (huge) part of her is now curious; if she had gotten over herself enough to pay attention to Stiles when he was pursuing her, how different would things be? Would she be sitting across from him, using pet names and maybe staring at him adoringly? 

Damn it, this is -not- an issue! Or at least, it shouldn't be. Not for a woman with her intellect. What ifs are useless unless they are part of scientific or mathematical inquiry. Postulating theories of alternate realities based on unanswerable questions is -not- the kind of indulgence she can afford, no matter how much she is pampering herself! She huffs softly and reaches down to grab her menu.

"No, I guess we wouldn't be. The condescending snark is pretty much the foundation of our relationship." Derek actually -laughs- as he says that, and she cannot remember a single time she has ever heard that sound come from the werewolf. At least, not with true meaning behind it. He could fake pretty much anything he needed to, but not this. This is clean, soft, and -real- and she's ready to throw all of her carefully cultivated facade out the window and gape at the two. Instead, she settles for discreetly lifting her menu so that she can stare over the edge of it.

She is -not- prepared for what she sees!

Derek is settled in his seat, leaning back like some Greek godling on display and over half the restaurant is taking full advantage of that display. Their pink-cheeked waitress is, of course, one of them. She keeps darting her wide eyes at the werewolf, licking at her unpainted lips and looking as if she has every intention of ignoring the fact that the man is on a date so that she can proposition him. (How is Stiles not scratch her eyes out?! If she were him, she'd be draping herself over Derek. Would show every one in this place that he belonged to -her-! Probably not the first mistake Stiles has made in this relationship, and sure not to be the last.)

"That it is, Der-Bear, that it is." Okay, if the laughter had been odd enough, the sudden blush that colors the stubbled cheeks of the Alpha is downright surreal. And breath taking. Who would've know that red would be such a perfect color on a werewolf!? 

She forces her eyes to cut away from the gorgeous man, to land on Stiles. And regrets it instantly. Her breath is sapped the second she takes him in, and she is ~~jealous~~ .. ~~angered~~ ... ~~depressed~~ ... overwhelmed. How the hell had he managed to hide all of that this past year!? Where Derek was consciously presenting himself in such a way that suggested every one should take their visual fill, Stiles is doing it .. naturally. Without thought. He is lounging lazily in his seat, head tossed back so that his throat is on display. And Lydia is in no way surprised to see the perfectly purple bruise sucked and bitten into his flesh. (Obviously Derek's calling card given the way his eyes keep straying toward it and the private little smile it causes him to have.) 

Stiles is wearing a dress shirt, much as he had at the Winter Formal, but better fitted. In that it is tight across his broad shoulders, snug against the abs she didn't realize he had, and even tight enough to show that there is more compact muscle in his bicep than she could have ever anticipated. Even the dark red tie is perfect where it hangs across his torso. One could easily grab a handful of it and reel him in, use it to hold him still so that you could sample those plush lips.

She shakes herself almost violently, scowling at the menu as she tries to understand where this sudden spike in arousal has come from.

"I .. I uh .. really like that, baby." Derek's voice is so incredibly soft and -shy-, that Lydia is having a hard time reconciling this entire event as real. It seems like some sort of fever dream, rather than any type of possible reality. "The Der-Bear." Stiles straightens immediately, eyes wide in surprise. It is obvious he had been concerned that that pet name would some how be crossing a line. So, his happiness is palpable as he reaches across the table to cover Derek's hand in his own. Once again, Lydia is left simmering in a stew of rage, disappointment, and bitter jealousy. This time, she isn't trying to deny it, not even to herself. She is burning with jealousy!

"Should .. should I come back!?" The waitress actually squeaks the question, bringing both young men back to the present. They both promptly blush and Stiles is already shaking his head as he yanks the menu open in front of himself. His eyes go wide, his mouth falls open and even Lydia's human ears pick up the sound of Stiles kicking the Alpha in the leg under the table.

"Oh my God, Derek! Are you out of your mind? The prices ... how .. it's not even in -English-!" The werewolf yelps, obviously more in surprise than any sense of pain, and continues to laugh at his irate date.

"Hey, you're the one that wanted to come here, baby. I -did- try and warn you .. and I did even offer to order for you." Because of -course- walking sex like Derek Hale would know French, wouldn't he? Probably learned it when he was a teenager to try and impress someone. At least, that is the educated guess Lydia is making.

"No, no. I can .. I can do this." Stiles squares his shoulder and glares down at the menu. He looks like a softer version of Derek, trying to scowl the menu into submission. Of course, he doesn't have the eyebrows to pull it off. Derek leans back in his seat again, one elbow resting on his thigh so that he can keep a hand in front of his mouth. Obviously, he is prepared to laugh quite a bit at his date. "Pieds de porc .. pork has to be safe, right?" Stiles glances up and scowls harder when he sees Derek's eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline.

"That, uh .. that's pig's feet, Stiles." 

"Oh god." The human whines and glares even darker at the menu, leaning in closer. Because of -course- he would be able to understand it better if he's leaning closer. "I know Foie gras, because it's gross -and- inhumane." Derek is now biting at the side of his hand, trying so hard not to outright laugh at his date. "Langue de boeuf .. no. Nope! Langue sounds too much like language. That's gonna be a hell to the NO. So, maybe the Tete de veau?"

Derek's head rolls back and he barks out a laugh that he just can't hold in any longer. The more his date struggles to understand, the more he is shaking with laughter. (Lydia refuses to think of them as boyfriends. There is no way in -hell- this relationship is going to work!)

"B-Brains, Stiles ... even -I- can barely keep the zombie jokes back." Stiles' eyes have widened to the size of saucers and he actually whimpers before he literally throws the menu at Derek's face. The werewolf manages to catch it with ease, closing it and setting it in front of himself as he struggles to stop laughing. 

"God. Just .. yeah, yes. -Please- order for me, Der-Bear, before I lose my appetite completely. -Provide- for me, sweetie." The word provide has an instant effect on the Alpha. He straightens up, shoulders squares, practically preening at the words from his date. Derek turns his charming smile on the waitress, who starts vibrating slightly under the intense gaze.

"He'll have the Coq au vin, without garlic and I'll have the Duck confit. We'll both have gratin dauphinois for the side. Thank you, ma'am." Stiles' eyes have gone a little distant but narrowed, and the waitress actually shakes herself out of a stupor once he holds the menus out for her. She shoves them under her arm and turns to run from the scene. 

"Wow. I gotta say ... yeah. That, uh .. that's kinda sexy. You taking control and even speaking some french. Hot as hell, Der-Bear." Derek ducks his head and snorts softly with laughter, but it's obvious that Stiles meant every word. And why wouldn't he? Derek Hale is a fine specimen of masculinity, and Lydia is already assuring herself that Stiles is only with him because of his looks. Yes, this is a relationship based solely on the way the Alpha looks. Once Stiles is over that novelty, the potential for a relationship will crash and burn and the local loser will be just as alone as she is.

"Shut up, Stiles." The werewolf mumbles once he has managed to get himself settled upward again, the blush finally gone. Before he can elaborate, Stiles has reached across the table and threaded their hands together. Something deep inside of Lydia clenches at the sight and she feels as if she is falling and there is no longer anyone there to catch her.

"Alright, alright. I was serious, though, Derek. I love this side of you. The sweet, caring, sharing, but still capable of snarking side." Derek is blushing again, and Lydia has had enough. This is .. too much. Too saccharine and gross. She jerks up from her seat, reaches into her bag to grab some cash and tosses it to the table for the time she wasted and the bottle of wine they opened. 

Once she is out of the restaurant, she is trembling as she pulls her cellphone out and dials a number. She nearly whimpers when she gets the all too familiar voicemail.

"If you think you're worth my time, leave a message. I probably won't get back to you, though." She takes in a quivering breath, eyes closing tightly to try and keep her tears at bay.

".. I miss you, Jackson." She jabs the end call button and shoves her cellphone into her purse. She carefully wipes her fallen tears away before heading for her car.


	2. Danny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow. So, this chapter totally got away from me! It developed far beyond what I expected it to be, and I kinda wanted to cry by the end of it. Poor Danny! 
> 
> Please don't hate me!

* * *

"Here, dude!" Danny's head snaps up when he hears someone addressing him, and he manages a wane smile for the younger guy behind the counter at the concession stand. He morosely takes the Styrofoam cup of soda and turns to pick his way through the patrons until he finds his destination. The very last lane at the bowling alley. 

He's trying so hard not to look at the happy couples and double dates taking place. Trying so very damn hard to convince himself that he's not in the least bit depressed over the fact that he is alone on a Friday night. Why is he -torturing- himself by going to a very obvious date-night destination when he's all alone?? He takes a thorough sip of his soda before practically slamming the cup down on the table. He falls onto his seat and stares at the console for the digital display screen. 

"This is a new level of loser, Danny-Boy." he mutters bitterly to himself, wincing when the words sound like some bastardized hybridization between Stiles' snark and Jackson's douchebaggery. Which just makes him even **more** depressed. Because he is now feeling sore and embarrassed over Stiles' rejection and heartbroken and alone over Jackson's abandonment.

With a growl, he jabs Danny into the scoreboard and then sighs dramatically at the fact that this is a solo game. He can remember the few times he had gone on a double date to bowl. Him and whatever temporary guy he was dating, paired against Jackson and Lydia. It was always a minefield when it happened. He was always stuck between paying attention to his own date, but also having to pay enough attention to Jackson that the crybaby didn't throw a temper tantrum over being ignored. Despite the fact that they had never dated, Danny spent half of his dates worried that Jackson would think he was losing him. It had been a strangely co-dependent friendship and he misses it like crazy now that it's gone. 

He forces himself up, off the seat and drags himself over to find a bowling ball. Even as he's looking through them, testing weight and fit, he is struggling to rise above his maudlin thoughts. No sooner has he stopped thinking about Jackson, however, than he is bogged down in thoughts of Stiles. 

What would he be like on a bowling date? Would you have to dodge and run to keep from getting smacked by his flailing limbs? Would he have needed Jackson to correct his stance and help him with his follow through, the same way Danny and Lydia usually did? 

"Oh wow. I mean .. WOW! This, right here, is a -historic- moment!" As if he has somehow conjured the teen from his very thoughts to torment him further, Stiles' voice filters through the general din surrounding him. "I cannot -believe- we found something that you are not naturally good at, babe! Not only that, but that -I- am better at than you. I kinda want to snap a picture, maybe cry a few tears of joy."

Huh. Well, that answered at least a -few- of his questions, didn't it? Apparently, Stiles is good at bowling, probably wouldn't need Jackson's help at all. That would've pissed the competitive perfectionist off, that's for sure. 

But now comes the -really- important question; who is Stiles here with? He had heard about the strange double date Jackson and Lydia had with Scott and Allison, so he doesn't really think that Stiles and Scott are talking. Besides that, the two had been best friends for years. Wouldn't Stiles know that he was better by now? So then, who had finally managed to get Stiles to willing go on a date? Or is he just here hanging out with someone the same way he thought the two of them were hanging out?

For one horrible, terrible moment, he -hopes- that is the case. He actually begs some nameless deity that whoever Stiles is here with, has been friendzone'd the same way Danny was. He is feeling dejected, rejected, and spiteful. But, after a moment, he feels those feelings melt away and he is left worn out. No matter how thoroughly he chastises himself against the idea, he turns and seeks out the source of that voice. 

Stiles is standing beside 'cousin Miguel,' smirking in a way that is not even the least bit condescending, mean, or cruel. No, it's simply cute and endearing. The kind of smirk that would usually accompany an inside joke. 

"Ugh. No, I am not naturally good at this, Stiles. And could you -maybe- try to be a -little- less gleeful about that fact? Smug is -not- a good look on you." Ohh-ho, Danny would beg to differ, thank you very much! Smug doesn't look good on Jackson. It definitely doesn't look good on Lydia. (She goes too squinty, pinched in the face when she's smug.) But Stiles? Smug looks hot as hell on Stiles!

"You are such a liar, Der-Bear. **Every thing** is a good look on me." Danny has known Stiles long enough to know that there is no actual confidence in that statement. It's the kind of 'Imma try to be confident as hell, but I really think this is extreme BS' stuff that the teen often spouts so that every one thinks he likes himself more than he does. It breaks Danny's heart, always has. 

"That is in every way, true. Which isn't really a surprise. Every thing looks good on you, baby, and you're better than me at more than just bowling, dumbass." Danny nearly drops the bowling ball on his foot at Derek's words. The fact that ex-murder suspect Derek Hale would call Stiles baby and dumbass in the same breath is hard enough to understand. The fact that he seems to share Danny's opinion that Stiles is far more than he will ever give himself credit for ... well, that endears him to the other man instantly. "Seriously .. whoever these assholes from your past are, if I ever get my claws on them --" Derek's voice is reduced to an angry, violent growl and Danny tries not to shiver at the sound, but he kinda has to. When you look as hot as Derek, and given the fact that Danny has seen him without a shirt, it's hard not to hear a sound like that and not think of wild, rough sex.

The fact that he's surrounded by all of these happy, over sexed couples really isn't helping his hormones, either. Because he can picture it, you know? Can picture Derek shirtless, growling and yeah, but no. That's more of a visual than he can handle at the moment. He turns back to the lanes, whimpering as he lines up a shot. Of course, he has no chance of actually -concentrating-, so he's not even a little bit surprised when the shot goes wide and he barely manages to clip the two left side pins. 

"I know, Der-Bear, I know." Stiles voice has dropped a fraction, though Danny is attuned now, so he can hear it still. There is a shockingly sweet, fond tone in his words and not for the first time, Danny aches with wonderment. What would it have been like, if Stiles had aimed that tone at him? Why hadn't he listened to his own instincts and desires and asked Stiles out freshman year like he originally planned? (Oh, that's right. Jackson pitched a bitch fit, so Danny put it off for later. And now Jackson is gone and Stiles is .. whatever he is, with Derek Hale. As if he could measure up to a freakin' WEREWOLF!)

"Now, aren't you supposed to be -correcting- my stance, baby? Not making fun of me?" Danny glances in enough time to drop his bowling ball on his foot when he sees DEREK HALE fluttering his lashes coyly at STILES STILINSKI. 

"Son of a -- motherf ---" He whines half formed curses as he hops up and down on his good foot. Glaring down at the offending bowling ball as it rolls lazily toward the lane. Once his foot no longer feels as if it's throbbing and ready to snap in half, he looks up again. His gaze is drawn to the couple a few lanes down, no matter how hard he is fighting the compulsion to look. 

And of course, he sees Stiles staring adoringly at Derek. Because apparently, they now exist in some kind of screwed up reality where Derek Hale is allowed to flirt shamelessly with Stiles Stilinski ... and Stiles is allowed to moon over Derek. -This- is -not- how this is -supposed- to go! 

Every one knows that Derek is an emotionally repressed failwolf that can barely keep his own life on track, let alone manage to maintain any friendships or relationships that aren't based on the bond of Alpha and beta. So how the hell did he manage to woo the hyperactive teen!? 

"Now now, we both know I wasn't making fun of you, sweetie. I was -teasing- you. Vast difference."

"Only to you, Stilinski, only to you." Derek throws an over exaggerated smile in Stiles' direction and the teen flails. That single, graceless movement is enough to calm Danny down a little bit. Enough to remind him that outside of whatever is going on here, Stiles is -still- Stiles. He can breathe again.

"Yeah, yeah. Alright. Come on, babe." Stiles walks up, behind Derek and Danny forgets how to breathe again when he watches those long, slender fingers dig into Derek's strong hips. God, how is this fair!? How the hell is it fair that Stiles gets to grab onto alllll of -that-!? Danny stomps after his runaway ball, yanking it back up and then throwing it angrily down the lane. And there's his first strike. Go figure it's because he's basically pissed off and mopey. 

"Loosen up a bit, Der-Bear." Stiles huffs, slowly massaging his fingers deep into Derek's hip muscles, causing the Alpha to let out a heated little moan that is bordering on OBSCENE!! God, half of his exes didn't make sounds that salacious while they were in the -bedroom-, let alone in public! Where no less than 25 people can hear, if they were paying any attention. Like he is. "Damn it, not -that- loose, Derek!" Stiles whines on an exhale, his eyes wide, his tongue reflexively thrusting across his bottom lip. 

"Then stop -massaging- my hips, Stiles!" The Alpha growls those words and Danny drops his bowling ball. Again. This time, he watches as it creeps down the lane .. and manages to get him another strike. Right. He is in no way prepared for this. Not any of it. "Or, you know, massage a little lower if you must." Danny trips over his own feet on the way to the ball return and decides that the best idea is to sit down. Before he accidentally kills himself.

Stiles yelps and jerks his hands off of the Alpha, scowling at the older man.

"Shameless. You are utterly -shameless-, Derek Hale!" And yet, the tone of voice doesn't match the words spoken. Because Stiles is giggling. Like a school girl with a crush. 

"No, not shameless, baby. I prefer to think of it as ... opportunistic." Danny hates Derek a little in this moment. But rather than storm over there and confront the two like he wants to, but has no -right- to, he turns and runs toward the concession stand.

"Hi. Yeah, pitcher of beer, please." He shoves his ID onto the counter, glaring at the thing before he pays for the beer and heads back toward his lane. He sits and downs two paper cups in quick succession before he leans his shoulder against the seat and trains his eyes on the happy couple. His own lane completely forgotten for now as he nurses a third cup.

"Right. Just like that. Line the ball up with ... oh my GOD! -Stop it-, Derek!" Stiles is whining now, jerking back in an attempt to keep Derek's ass from wiggling suggestively against his crotch. Though, maybe calling it a suggestion is a little too tame for what's going on? Yeah, Danny would definitely call that -demandingly-, actually. Because it looks as if Derek is pretty much demanding that Stiles do so many not safe for public things to him right about now.

"Really? You are -plastered- to my back and I'm supposed to behave? You are -seriously- overestimating my self control, Stiles! Stop pushing me and I'll stop pushing back ... -if- that's what you really want." Danny finishes his third cup and sloppily pours a fourth. Silently curses that he cannot find someone that wants him that badly! Because shouldn't it be reversed? Shouldn't Stiles, the horny teenager, be doing everything in his power to get the hot older guy to screw him? Rather than said hot older guy pretty much groping and grinding against the teenager trying to get some? 

Only Stiles would be so lucky as to get someone that wanted him -that- badly. Danny hiccups and finishes his fourth cup of crappy beer before he turns away from the lane, ripping his phone out of his pocket and dialing a familiar number. And when he gets the same familiar voicemail that Lydia had, he lets out a soft sob.

"I hate you so much, Jackson Whittemore! Because of you ... you and your shitty attitude about Stiles, I'm sitting here. Drowning my sorrows in -cheap beer-. It's -CHEAP-, Jackson! But it's working. Making me not care that Stiles, the greatest guy I ever had a chance with, is on a date with someone else. Because I let you bitch me out of trying to date him. I thought.. well, I thought we were getting there, but we weren't. He said I'm not his type. But I bet I would've been before he met that Adonis asshole Derek. This is all your fault, Jackson! I'm glad you're gone. You screw every thing up. I spent all of our childhood trying to make people believe you weren't really a douche, but I shouldn't have bothered. Because you're an abandoner. You ran away and left us here, all alone. Hate you .. so much ........ please call me back." It takes six jabs before he manages to end the call, and then another three attempts before he manages to dial Lydia.

"Lyds? I need you ... stupid perfect couple ... drunk at the bowling alley ... hate them both so much ... please ..." His words slowly taper off into gentle whimpers and soft sniffles of tears as he curls up in his seat. He knows, even if he can't really understand what she's saying, that she'll be here. They may not have any real reason to be friends, but they are trauma bonded over the existence of werewolves and the absence of Jackson in their lives. If nothing else, she'll get him out of here. She'll save him from this pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, poor Danny! I had -no- intention of subjecting him to all of these feels, but it sort of evolved into this big monster of feelings and tears.


	3. Boyd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Where I originally had trouble writing Boyd in the first part of this series, I LOVED writing Boyd in this one! Hope everyone enjoys!

* * *

Boyd would not call it running away. He would call it a strategic retreat. In this case, he is referring to leaving Isaac and Erica moping at a diner. Sure, he could've easily eaten. Would have actually enjoyed the time spent with his packmates, but if he had to listen to either of them whinging about Stiles turning them down ONE MORE TIME, he might punch both of them. In the face. Repeatedly. So, he strategically retreated because he'd rather not punch his brother or best friend in the face. Especially his best friend. Because he and Erica have a strange kind of connection, but he's really not thinking about that right now.

Didn't the other two know that they weren't the only ones that had been rejected? They sat there bitching together, moaning and whinging over their broken hearts. Acting as if he wasn't even there. Apparently, he was an emotionless sounding board for them to rant and rave their pain away at. So, he left.

All he could think, is that coming to work early had been a good idea. -Any thing- was a good idea in comparison to the situation he just left. Sure, despite working at a skating rink, he has no real love of ice skating. But he is an observer. He likes to watch people. It has honed his instincts when it comes to predicting human behavior, and has given him a bit of insight into those around him. If need be, he could probably hobble together a dossier on any of his packmates and be pretty damn accurate.

Except for Stiles. Because, apparently, that human is one hell of a weakness/blind spot for the werewolf. It's the only explanation he has for the fact that he had read the situation with his packmate so wrongly. He had somehow been truly surprised when Stiles turned him down. And yet, deep down, he -knows- that should not be true. Because he -does- observe those around him, and he's pretty sure that deep in his mind, he knew Stiles had a thing for their Alpha. But somehow, for some unknown reason, he pushed that truth as far away from himself as he could, threw caution to the wind, and exposed his most vulnerable places to Stiles' rejection.

All he can think, the only theory he can formulate, is that he needed the closure. There had been no way Stiles would say yes to him, especially given how little interaction they have had, but still .. he needed concrete proof that he didn't have a chance, or his analytical mind would've been bogged down in the what ifs from now until eternity.

So, in the end, despite how much rejection had hurt ... he's glad that Stiles had found a way to let him down gently. Because in hindsight, it's very obvious that that is what the human did. The moment Boyd opened his mouth, Stiles knew exactly what he was preparing to ask, and being the amazing person that he is, found a non-humiliating, kind way to let him down. 

Oh, crap. So maybe the closure only partially worked? Because he finds himself deifying his packmate a little bit. He is now even more fond of Stiles than he had been -before- he asked him out. However, he is confident that he can gently nudge these newfound feelings into one of platonic regard because Stiles made it perfectly clear that they could not be together. Or, at least, as clear as the kind human could without coming right out and saying it. For which he is still thankful.

He will never be a man of overt expression. Much like his Alpha, words are a last resort because they are fallible and so easy to mess up. They are messy, erroneous, annoying. Never the true meaning of expression, as far as he is concerned. Actions speak louder, no matter what your species. So, he will let his actions do the speaking for him. He will be there for Stiles in any way he can, as both penance for his unwanted advances, and as assurance that he will always be Stiles friend and packmate.

He shifts a little on the bench seat to get more comfortable as he lets his eyes wander over those skating. He will never understand how the act of skating brings pleasure. It is a weird sort of graceful act of destruction that has always left him scratching his head in perplexion. Now, his job? There is a certain sense of cathartic release in driving the zamboni once the rink is completely cleared. He gets to take these acts of destruction and erase them completely. He gets to smooth and reshape the ice back to it's gleaming perfection. Erase the gouges of blades, the mounds of shaved ice and return everything to a state of limited perfection. He creates after everyone destroys.

As of late, his job has become a strange sort of metaphor that he does not enjoy as much as he used to. Because every time he drives the Zamboni, he is reminded of so many harsh things. Of Scott beating Isaac and Erica moments before Derek beat him down. Of the pain of the Bite that changed his life forever. But more than that, the metaphor of destroying and building up has actually touched his life in a way; Isaac. He wishes, more than anything, that he could erase the damage that bastard that dared call himself Isaac's parent had inflicted on his brother. The Kanima was far too merciful, in his opinion. And he knows ... -KNOWS- that if they could, Stiles would resurrect the son of a bitch and let Derek take him out slowly. (Truth be told, he is hella surprised Stiles hasn't done exactly that. In fact, he has discreetly been trying to find out if Stiles has researched necromancy at all. Because if his friend succeeds .. well, lets just say he -really- wants to be invited to the party on that one.)

"Seriously, Der-bear?" Stiles voice is breathless and a little harsh, though there is no negative emotion behind it. Just the kind of strain placed on it by nervousness and strenuous activity. Not surprising, Boyd's head snaps around that he may lay eyes on the gangly teen. Stiles is leaning against the railing of the rink, watching as Derek carefully ties off his skates. "Please tell -why- you insisted on coming here?" The nervousness has slowly bled from his tone, replaced by a note of amusement that makes Boyd smile by proxy. 

Derek huffs a breath, glares playfully at his boyfriend, and continues to meticulously lace up and tie his skates. Of course the think first, ask questions later Alpha would be careful about something like this. Or maybe, he is deliberately taking his time to annoy his boyfriend. It seems like the type of action Derek would take.

"You're going to make me say it, aren't you?" The Alpha sighs dramatically, finally standing up and looking down at Stiles open, upturned face. "You brought -her- here, Stiles." That is actually explanation enough in Boyd's mind. It makes complete and utter sense to him. Stiles brought Lydia here, a girl he had profusely proclaimed to love, so of course the werewolf needed to come here, too. He would have a wild, feral need to erase the memory of Lydia and Stiles here. Or, at least, by the new reason Stiles looked so fondly upon this place. It's a territorial thing, but it's also a love thing. When you are falling in love, there is this inherent need for things to be about you both. For old memories to be superseded with ones that contain you both. It helps up the levels of affection, as well as cement the person as a more permanent place in your life. See, makes perfect sense.

"Yes, Alpha-Mine. I brought Lydia here. Once. And it was a complete and utter bust. The entire time I used color as a metaphor for me and her, she thought I was talking about Scott and Allison. Or, well, I'm pretty sure she knew I was talking about me and her, but she was, in her own way, trying to let me down easy or something. Anyway, there is no reason for us to be here just because I brought her here once." The Teen sighs, and it is full of fond exasperation, and Boyd smiles. It's small, but true. These two could not be better suited for each other unless they were actual Split Aparts. "However, I get it. I do. Lets go make a better memory, Der-Bear." 

Derek's usually stoic, unreadable features light up with a blindly happiness that causes the other werewolf to look away for a moment. Because, despite the public nature of this place, he feels as if he has accidentally stumbled upon a very private, intimate moment.

"Thank you for understanding, baby." Derek murmurs the words, and were it not for Boyd's supernatural hearing, he never would've been able to pick them out. He can feel himself blushing, flushing with heat all over at hearing his Alpha refer to someone that way. On reflection, it makes total sense that Derek would call Stiles something like that. That the oft times gruff Alpha would be able to conjure such a sentimentally sweet side for the teenager. Because Boyd gets that, too.

Stiles and Derek make each other better people. 

Boyd does not have this thought with any grain of condescension or arrogance, but instead, simple observation. Derek is rough, mean, and single minded when he sees a mission laid out before him. When he first got to town, he cared little beyond finding a way to meet his own goals, and did whatever it took to reach said goals. He never put anyone in danger if he could help it, but neither did he rush to relinquish the full truth. But then, he came to rely on Stiles. Began to protect the human even when he didn't have to. In fact, he put his own-self at -risk- to protect the youth. It taught him how to put himself out there in the name of others, which translated to being more open and available for his pack.

And Stiles ... well, he is a fiercely protective, loyal creature by nature. Every one in the Pack secretly thinks that he will find a way to follow in his Dad's footsteps. Find a way to protect and serve the public, but that was not always the case. In the beginning, Stiles worldview of protection extended only to his family and Scott's family. Anyone beyond that were seen as interlopers worth the barest consideration. Stiles would not go out of his way to ignore someone in need, even back then, but neither would he jeopardize anything beyond his own comfort to protect them. He would have put himself between anyone and a bully, but not if Scott were at risk of getting hurt. 

But now, he will go out of his way to make sure that any denizen of Beacon Hills is safe, even if it means putting himself in extreme danger. (A fact that still enrages the pack. Because they just want him safe, damn it!)

"Come on, sweetie." Stiles reaches out to take Derek by both hands, inching backward carefully as the werewolf steps out, onto the ice. There is initially a fumble, the Alpha tripping a little as he tries to get used to the balance of the blades. But it takes a single correction, a moment of concentration, and then his equilibrium is restored. Even from back here, Boyd can see the look of playful annoyance of Stiles face. "So, unlike bowling, you're freakin' natural at this, too. I hate you so much sometimes, Derek." The teen infuses as much whine into the statement as he can, and Boyd quickly ducks his head so that he can shove his palm against his mouth to muffle his laughter. 

"Come on, that's not true, Stiles." Boyd's head shoots up, his mouth falling open in surprise. Stiles might not be able to detect it, but Boyd can. In -everything-. The underlying current of concern in Derek's voice .. the stench of fear and anguish rolling off of him, the scared jump of his heart ... some part of the Alpha actually fears Stiles -means- it. That Stiles could actually hate him sometimes.

He can feel the whine beginning in the back of his throat and he slinks down, between the seats so that he can compose himself before the whine has a chance to reach his Alpha's ears. He wriggles and moves until he can glance down at them where they skate, but still remain relatively hidden.

Stiles has tightened his hands around Derek's and use them to reel the Alpha in. Once he is close enough, Stiles arms go around the broader man, pulling him into a tight hug. Even from here, Boyd can hear the soft scrape of skin on skin as Stiles kisses each of Derek's cheeks and then his lips.

"I was only teasing, baby. I promise." There is a raw truthfulness to Stiles voice that makes Boyd feel warm all over. Even if that warmth isn't aimed at him, it still bolsters his own mood. Lightens it tremendously as he watches his Alpha and packmate interact. Derek moves until he can place his cheek ever so gently against Stiles' shoulder. Can push his nose against the curve of his neck and breath deeply of his scent. "I will never hate you in any way, Derek Hale. I never have, I never could." Derek chuckles almost bitterly at those words, his own arms wrapping almost desperately around the human to draw him closer as they rest in each others arms on the ice.

"Really? So, what, there was no hate there when you told Katniss to shoot me in the head?" Stiles flinches at that. His eyes snap closed and waves of unease are pouring off of him. Boyd remembers that night .. and even -he- had not believed Stiles words. It guts him that Derek had. But, it makes sense .. especially of those days. Derek seemed nothing more than a single death wish away from permanent destruction most of the time. 

"Derek .... **_DEREK_** " The teen is whimpering now. He yanks Derek's face up by pressing a trembling palm to each cheek. Crashes their lips together with a desperation that is palpable. Derek whimpers so loud that it crashes against Boyd's ears. He nearly covers them to try and keep the sound out. "God, I didn't -mean- it. How could you not tell, sweetie?! My heart was racing, I was scared, but I was -not- scared of you, Der-Bear. I was scared for Lydia, but I knew, even -then-, that you wouldn't let anything happen to me. I was honestly surprised when Isaac threw me down, but even that didn't hurt me. Just .. got me out of the way. I -never- want you to get hurt, Der-Bear .. not -ever-!" He crashes their lips together again, each of their sets of hands clawing at each other in an attempt to somehow bridge that little bit of space left between them.

A quick scan of the area reveals many couples stopping to stare, and Boyd wants to snarl at each and every one of them! They are -not- part of this moment, he doesn't care how public it is. This is a moment only for his Alphas, damn it!

Huh ... Alpha ** _s_**. The pluralization takes him by surprise. So much so that he stumbles and nearly falls down the bleachers, though he manages to catch himself before it happens. Now that he has said the word, it makes perfect sense. Stiles has always been a man of action, a man to take charge if he needed to. Of course he would be an Alpha, especially now that he is dating Derek. 

"My alphas .." he whispers the words aloud to get a feel for them on his tongue and it's glorious. It fights .. it feels **_right_** and he is suddenly lightheaded with giddiness. Because now, it feels like their pack just might be complete. He scrambles off the bleachers, weaving easily in and out of groups of humans in his search for the concession stands.

He's smiling. That big, out of place smile that makes other people uncomfortable but he doesn't care AT ALL! Because he couldn't banish the smile, even if he wanted to. His inner wolf is yipping, yowling and howling, trying to metaphorical backflips with happiness at this new development. Closure, it has surely been had! 

"Hi! Can I get two hot chocolates? One white and dark, the other just dark. Whipped creme on both, please." He is practically vibrating, hopping on the balls of his feet as he waits. He quickly shuffles money out to pay before he grabs the two cups and hastily makes his way to the rink.

"Stiles! Derek!" He barks out the names of his Alphas, watching them practically jump apart at the sound of his voice. They are both blushing a deep crimson and Boyd can honestly say he has never felt so very happy in all of his life. He beckons them over by canting his head and they skate to him hand in hand. "I'm glad you two finally got your stuff together. Here." He thrusts the cups out to them, Stiles taking the mixed cocoa while Derek reaches for the dark. They both scent the drinks before beaming happily at him.

"Thanks, pup!" His Alphas echo each other, and he kinda wants to purr and rumble in happiness. In contentment. 

"Later." He smiles warmly at them before he ducks away so that they can enjoy their cocoa and time with each other. God, things are finally good!!


	4. Scott

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The very first guest appearance in this work! 
> 
> Oh Scott, buddy, time to get your head out of your ass!

* * *

Blah ... blah .... blah ... blahblahblah ........

Scott is officially through with this day! School is annoying. Too hard to concentrate on when there's so much more to worry about. Things have been too quiet, lately. He's waiting for the other shoe to drop, scared that they won't be ready when it does. But those thoughts are quickly pushed to the back burner when his eyes wander away from the droning teacher and spy Allison sitting a few rows over.

She's propped on one perfect elbow, her hand cupping her cheek as she stares off into space. He can feel his own eyes growing a little distant, the longer he stares at her.

Is she thinking about him? Maybe she's remembering one of the times they made out? Or maybe she's reliving her birthday, when they went for a drive and a walk. Just thinking about that makes his stomach swoop and his heart speed up. God, she is the best! After every thing that she's been through, she's still going strong. Still trying so hard to be a good person. Most people would've given up. Surrendered to the legacy of their family and decided that everything different deserved to die.

But not his Allison! No, she perci ... perse ... perseveres! Hah, take that Stiles! I -can- pick up new words. He is practically glowing with pride as he shakes himself free of his thoughts. 

Speaking of Stiles .... it takes him a few minutes to realize that he hasn't actually talked to his friend in ... wow, he has no idea how long! He discreetly pulls his mobile out, checking to see if he has any new messages. A quick glances reveals nothing new and that is more than a little dumbfounding. He tries to remember when the last time he went without getting a text from his best friend was, and his memory says it was when Stiles was out of school for three days, sick. His Dad had confiscated his phone and Scott had nearly lost his mind with worry.

But .. apparently, that's wrong. He glares at the mobile device, wanting to call it a liar, maybe insult its calculator ancestors, because according to his text log, he hadn't gotten a new text from stiles in two months. Two. Months. He nearly laughs, some half hysterical sound wanting to bubble up at the absurdity that he hadn't texted his best friend in **two months**!

Okay.

Okay, this is some kind of technical error, obviously! He pocket erased some texts, that all. Yeah. see? Simple explanation. Because he -knows- that he texted Stiles just last .. last ........... last .... holy hell. His phone falls from his hand, smacking against his foot before falling to the ground. He cannot remember the last conversation he had with his brother from another mother. Not text or vocal.

His breath comes in a sudden, short burst and he remembers this. Remembers when he burst out of class and ran to the locker rooms. Of course, Stiles had followed him, because Stiles always had his back. Had shoved his old inhaler into his hand and helped stave off the panic attack. But where's Stiles now? Where is his best friend to save him from himself this time? Oh, that's right, MIA for TWO MONTHS!!

He reaches down, scrambling to pick up his phone but it's almost impossible to, because he can barely see for the fuzziness around the edge of his vision. But finally, he manages to grab it, to shove it haphazardly into his pocket before he shoves his things into his backpack and rushes toward the door. Just as he manages to get it open, the final bell shrieks, announcing his freedom.

He throws the door open violently, panting desperately for breath as he tries to remember where Stiles is. God, he can't even remember his best friend's schedule anymore! What twilight zone has he stepped out into!? With a whimper, he takes off for the front of the school, figuring if nothing else, he can find Stiles by his Jeep. That is one constant he can always rely -- what the hell, man!? 

He nearly falls down the stairs when he realizes that he cannot see the giant blue Jeep ANYWHERE in the parking lot. His breathing hitches even worse, his vision eclipsing even further the more he struggles to breathe. The world has suddenly crumbled into something he doesn't understand in the least. Stiles had been at school today, right? He can't remember a single time he consciously took notice of the other teen and he wants to break down into tears. This is as painful as the day his Dad walked out on him and Mom.

"Scott." Someone growls his name next to his ear and instinct tells him to listen. So he snaps around and comes face to face with Derek Hale of all people! "Come on, Scott, breathe with me." A large, warm hand lays across the nape of his neck and he falls into the hold. Desperately leans back, into it, needing the comfort and control that hold represents. "That's it, pup. Slow and steady .. just listen to my breathing, okay?" Derek's voice has dropped into a soft, soothing decibel and Scott is really conflicted. He wants to scream at Derek for calling him a -pup- because he's human, damn it! But he also wants to thank him for bothering to do this. After all, they barely tolerate each other, so what reason does Derek have to take the time to help him through a panic attack?

"Isaac. Get Stiles, now." Derek's voice doesn't raise beyond it's current level, but Scott knows that the beta will hear the Alpha. Derek's hand squeezes at his nape because the mention of Stiles has ramped up his anxiety again. "Come on, Scott. You're doing so well. Don't rush it, okay, pup? In .... out .... in .... out ... there you go." Scott can feel tears pooling at the corners of his eyes and if this day gets any weirder, he might just faint. And not the -manly- kind of faint that Stiles is always talking about.

"Der-Bear? Isaac just came rushing up to me .. what's wrong? What's going -- Scott?" Stiles voice changes minutely. Goes from downright scared to cool and confused. Scott actually whimpers at the change, trying to figure out what's going on here. "Give me your bag." He growls the command and Scott is already shoving it toward his best friend. Who reaches into the side pocket and pulls out an inhaler, shoving it at him. "Same as last time, McCall. There you go." Scott fumbles the inhaler to his lips, taking two quick drags to interrupt the anxiety. Once he is breathing better, he snatches his pack back and turns to face Derek. Snarling at him.

"I am not a damn -puppy-, Derek. Don't -ever- call me pup again! Isaac might put up with that crap, but I won't." Before Scott can take another breath, a backpack comes smashing against his shoulder and he yelps in surprise. Turning to face a very pissed off looking Stiles Stilinski, which has never been a sight that scared him all that much. Before. But now? He is seriously considering turning tail (even if he doesn't have one because he's not an actual ANIMAL, Derek!) and running as far away as he can. "What the hell, Stiles?"

"Don't you what the hell me, Scott McCall. You're the one being a douchenozzle! Derek just -helped- you, and you have the gall to talk to him that way!? Hell to the NAH, man!" Stiles smacks him with the bag a second time, and is the midst of rearing back for a third when Derek grabs the bag and yanks it away. The momentum brings Stiles against Derek's body and the Alpha quickly wraps an arm around his waist. Pinning the human against him.

"Stiles! Calm down." Derek leans forward, gently running the tip of his nose against Stiles' jaw, nipping lightly. Scott watches in abject horror as Stiles begins to calm almost instantly. "It's okay, baby, you don't have to defend me." There are notes of amusement and awe in Derek's voice and it is rubbing Scott the wrong way. 

"Oh, I beg to differ, sweetie. He's being an unmitigated asshole right now! The -only- reason I hit him with the bag is because you'd go apeshit if I accidentally broke my hand punching him." The words alone are enough to send the Alpha's eyes flashing red and a deep growl of anger rumbling from his chest. "Exactly." Stiles grabs Derek tenderly by the chin and tips the werewolf's head so that he can press a kiss to his lips and that is about the time that Scott loses it.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Stiles? Since when do you and this asshole -kiss-!? Not to mention the PET names!" His eyes have gone poisonous yellow, his fangs and claws are out. He can even feel his forehead beginning to reshape and hair preparing to sprout. "Get away from, Derek!" He nearly howls the challenge, prepared to rip the Alpha to pieces for kissing his best friend.

"Since two months ago, Scott! I -tried- to talk to you about it, but if I didn't say the word ALLISON, you didn't listen to a damn thing I said." With a snarl that surprises Scott (And sort of makes a deep, instinctive part of himself really proud and impressed) Stiles rears back and smashes his backpack straight into the werewolf's face, shocking him out of his change. He splutters in surprise, stumbling several feet back and falling flat on his backside with how hard Stiles hit him.

"Did you even know that I turned **_Lydia_** and **_Danny_** down, Scott? Oh-ho, but not just them. Every member of the pack asked me out, Scott. All of them. And I turned each of them down, because I want Derek." The Alpha whimpers deep in the back of his throat, turning bright red at Stiles -voicing- the fact that he -chose- him. In the next moment, he's wrapped around the human from behind. Whimpering as he mouths at the curve of Stiles' neck. Marking his pale skin. Stiles whines and pushes back, against the Alpha. Melting into the desperate hold his ... his boyfriend .... has on him.

"You .. you turned Lydia and Danny down ... for **_Derek_**?" He doesn't mean to, but he snorts. Derisively. And Stiles snarls again, Derek's tight hold appearing to be the only thing holding the human back again.

"If you use that tone about my Alpha one more time, McCall, I will split my backpack open on your head, dude." Derek takes two careful steps back, pulling Stiles out of range of the beta. Scott looks almost nauseous when he realizes that someone he just told off ... is actively trying to protect him. From the wrath of his best friend.

"Stiles ... calm down. Please." The Alpha is pleading with his boyfriend now, nuzzling against the nape of his neck to calm him, and it seems to be working. After a moment, Stiles leans heavily back, against the werewolf. "What he thinks or says, baby, it's not what matters. This is between -us-." He growls the word us and Stiles nods a single time before he carefully pulls out of his boyfriend's arms.

"You're right, sweetie." Stiles smiles at Derek before cutting his eyes toward his best friend. "The fact of the matter is .. it doesn't matter what you think, Scott. Derek and me .. we're together. End of discussion. The other fact of the matter .. is that you and me, we haven't spoken in -two- months, dude. You don't just get to decide that you are going to take an interest in my life all of a sudden." 

"Stiles, I --"

"No. Shut up, Scott. I'm talking, here." Stiles takes a deep breath, reaches behind him to grope for Derek's hand. The Alpha takes it immediately, folding their fingers around each other. "Allison is through with you, Scott. It's been two months and she hasn't said a single word to you, buddy. Staring at her from afar isn't going to change anything. I would -definitely- know that, by now. It never worked for me in the past. You're letting your entire life pass you by, Scott."

"Stiles --"

"Still not through, man!" Stiles takes a deep breath and squeezes Derek's hand. Beaming sweetly at his boyfriend. "It's like this, Scott. I chose Derek to be with ... I chose his pack to be a part of. I still love you, man ... you'll always be my brother. But right now, I think we still need time apart. Because if you don't pull your head out of your ass and start to make an effort ... well, I have family to fall back on, dude. What do you have?" From the look on his features, it actually hurts Stiles to say that and Scott really wants to rage at him for it. For popping open a wound he didn't even realize had begun to fester. 

"...okay, Stiles. Not sure I want to be around you and him at the moment, anyway." Scott shoves himself to his feet and turns, running away from the Pack. Maybe Allison could tell him what to do? Maybe she'd answer a text for this??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! I am taking a little bit of a vote. I plan on doing another character guest appearance; Sheriff Stilinski! 
> 
> Now, I have two different scenarios for how his appearance can play out, but I can't really decide which one. So, I am putting it to a vote.
> 
> Do you want an angst Sheriff chapter with him and both Stiles and Derek ... or a cute, fluffy chapter of the Sheriff and Derek interacting one-on-one? Vote in the comments!


	5. Isaac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ickle puppy Isaac!

* * *

He's not supposed to be here. It's not that he's been banned, banished, or otherwise exiled, he just knows that he's not supposed to be here. It is not taboo, per se, but still feels somehow forbidden.

That, however, is not about to stop him.

So, he burrows deeper into the nest of covers on Stiles' bed. He had quietly raided the Sheriff's room, the linen closet, and the set of linens that the Sheriff kept in the living room. Once returned to Stiles room, he had carefully created the perfect nest in the center of the bed. The lowest layer was Stiles personal linens, since they smell like Alpha. And then, at the top of the nest, trapping everything else in, was the blanket that Derek sometimes covered up with in the living room, since it smells like other Alpha.

Carefully, so as not to disturb his work, Isaac had burrowed under the mass of blankets and sheets until he was comfortable. Until he can feel the heavy weight of it all surrounding him like the warm bodies of packmates. Sure, he could probably call up the pack and ask if they would come puppy pile with him, but he is afraid of feeling weak. Of his Alphas -seeing- him as weak. So, he opted for this, instead.

He snuffles softly, nose buried in Stiles' pillow. He breathes in the scent of Alpha, his chest rumbling with the almost sub-vocal sound of contentment he's making. (Okay, it's a purr, damn it! No matter what Derek says, it's a purr. Werewolves are capable of purring!) He can feel the warmth of happiness spreading over him as he puts the events of the day further and further from his mind.

"Stiles, clam down! It's going to be okay. He's up here. Just .. go slow, okay?" Derek's voice jerks Isaac out of the half dozing state his nest had reduced him to. He tries to burrow deeper, but he knows that he can't. Because he is curled up on a solid object, after all.

"How the hell am I supposed to go slow, dude?? First he runs off, doesn't bother telling either of use where he's going. He didn't bother checking in with Mama McCall, and then didn't bother answering his phone! I'm so mad I could -scream-!" Isaac whimpers softly against the pillow, forcing his face closer to the material in some false hope of blocking the pain in Stiles' voice out.

The sound of footsteps stops right outside the door and he is already cringing, waiting for Stiles to burst in and verbally tear into him for being so stupid. For worrying his Alphas the way he had. He knows that he messed up, and he knows that his Alphas care about him, but he still has trouble with discipline. He still cringes and grimaces with phantom fear of blows that will never land. Stiles would never lash out at him physically, and has yet to fully lash out verbally, either. But still that fear remains.

"Stiles .." Derek's voice is so very soft and full of emotion. Not something Isaac ever thought to -hear-, let alone see. Sure, everyone knew that Derek had to be in possession of emotions. Contrary to popular belief, the Alpha is -not- a sociopath. But, he has never had reason or an outlet, to let his emotions run free. Until now. Isaac will never forget the first time he saw Derek scoop Stiles into his lap during a pack meeting, because something had upset him. The fact that Derek ached -with- Stiles .. it had been a beautiful moment to witness.

Even now, he can hear the soft thud of Derek carefully pushing Stiles against the door. Easing the human's back into the wood so that he has something solid to concentrate on. (Who would've thought that the Alpha would discover a reason beyond intimidation for shoving Stiles into walls? Turns out it is a great instant focus for the teen.) The jackrabbit heart beat of the teen is beginning to calm. Easing down into a register that doesn't make Isaac want to tackle his human Alpha through the door and beg him to be okay. (It was hard enough losing his Father .. he doesn't think he could lose his Papa or his Dad ... not that he has ever called his Alphas that to their -faces-, but still ..)

"Isaac is safe. He came here for a reason, because it feels like den and home to him. The last thing you want to do is make him afraid to come here. I know you, baby, and pack is everything. This isn't about him not calling or answering his phone, it's about the pup needing us." Isaac strains his hearing and nearly winces when a soft thud denotes Stiles smacking the back of his head on the door. He really wants to rush out there, wrap his Alpha in a blanket and apologize until he's hoarse in the throat. He wants to wrap himself around Stiles and beg that everything will be alright, while simultaneously promising that everything will be alright.

"Yeah .. I .. I know. But I was worried. I know, Pup is a werewolf, but he can still get hurt and just because everything is peaceful right now, doesn't mean it will stay that way. I just need our pack to be okay, Der-Bear." The wet snuffle of a nose is what finally breaks Isaac. He quickly scrambles up, out of his nest, tipping the bedding onto the floor in his haste to break free.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking ... didn't mean to make you angry ... shouldn't have made you worry .. I'm so sorry, Stiles. Please don't be mad. Please don't make me leave." The words rush out in a desperate plea as he struggles to fight free of the blanket currently wrapped around his ankle.

"I'll be better, I promise. I'll never turn my cellphone off, I'll make sure I text Ms. McCall and let her know where I am. Please, just ... please don't ..." Tears are streaming down his cheeks, tickling his nose, pooling at the corners of his mouth as he fights the waves of panic crashing against him.

"Isaac ..." Stiles' voice is soft and soothing, brimming with loving concern and Isaac really just wants to melt into a puddle of goo on the floor. Because Stiles cares. Papa Stiles LOVES him, even if he's upset with him. Waking nightmares of being abandoned all over again begin to dissipate and he is going to be okay. "Of course I'm not going to make you leave, sweetie. In fact, the suggestion that you are leaving is hereby banned from any discussion, pup!" Gently, with the infinite care of a parents love, Stiles carefully begins to unwind the blanket from his ankle and Isaac is left wondering if it would be too much if he launched himself at the human Alpha and curled up in his lap. 

"I'm sorry, Isaac, for making you think something like that. You worried me, that's all." Once the blanket is free, Isaac yelps in surprise when Derek pulls him to his feet. And then immediately begins to pat him down, making sure that their pup is not hurt in some way. Stiles grins at the action, and Isaac is pretty sure that if Derek hadn't taken it, Stiles would have.

"Do you want to talk about it, Pup?" Derek asks softly, and both Isaac and Stiles jerk a little in surprise. It's one thing, knowing that their Alpha has become more open and but it's another to actually -hear- him asking to talk about something so obviously emotional. Isaac shifts from foot to foot, staring down at the mess of bedding trailing across the floor.

"Scott is an asshole. He's supposed to be my friend, but he's a jerk. The way he treated Stiles .. the way he acted after you -helped- him ... I don't want to stay there anymore, Da -- Derek." Both Alphas exchange curious looks, and Isaac is very much aware of the fact that they have managed to hold an entire conversation with nothing but their eyes and facial expressions. And he is immediately, fully jealous. Not of the pairing, though. He does not harbor any anger or resentment, no jealousy or bitterness toward Derek because Stiles chose him. He's bitterly jealous of the love between the two. He wants that, someday. Someone who looks at him like he is the greatest thing ever. 

It had hurt, when he first realized that Stiles had chosen Derek. It had burned that he had been spurned, but then he understood. Yes, he likes Stiles ... -loves- him, even, but ... he had been confused. He had no lustful, wanton feelings for Stiles. He just wanted Stiles to love him, and he does .. he's Papa Stiles.

He sniffles softly, reaches up to wipe the tears off his cheeks before he manages to straighten up. Only to immediately find himself being pulled tight into a hug by Stiles. He goes limp and pliant in the arms of his Alpha. Curls into him and breathes deep the reassuring smell of Human ... Papa ... Alpha ... Stiles. He sniffles softly, shivering when Stiles hand gently ruffles through his curls. His Alpha always knows how to calm him. How did he get so lucky? One Alpha to soothe him, one Alpha to protect him.

"Then you don't have to, Zac." Derek reassures softly, moving so that he can wrap around his pup and his mate. Carefully, he presses into Stiles' back, arms going around until he has his hands resting firmly, comfortingly on Isaac's back. The beta sighs happily as he nuzzles into the holds. "I bet, that John will be more than happy to let you stay here for a little bit. While I get some things taken care of. You don't have to go back to the McCall house, Pup. We just want you to be happy." Isaac whimpers and shuffles, until he can press himself into Stiles' side, so that Derek's arms are directly around him and he is being cradled close and protected by both of his Alphas.

"That settles it, then." Stiles murmurs against Isaac's temple, planting a gentle kiss there that makes the beta squirm happily. "You'll stay here for a bit. I'll call Ms. McCall and explain, and then I'll call Dad and let him know." Stiles pulls back so that he can grin at Derek. Who is looking every bit the proud, happy Dad, and Isaac nearly slips up again, almost calls him Dad again. "Zac .. would you like to come with me and Derek tonight?" Derek's eyes widen a little and his smile gets even brighter, if that's possible.

"What? But no. Tonight is your date night." Isaac carefully pulls away from his Alphas, trying to glare them into submission. As if that would work! He looks like little more than an upset puppy, and even -he- knows that. He huffs and pouts, and Derek reaches out to ruffle through his curls.

"So? It goes from date night to family night, Zac. Come on." Stiles reaches out to grab Isaac's hand and the beta can feel himself blush. Family night. Yes, please! He can feel his wolf whimpering and whining under his skin. -This- is why he had asked Stiles out. Not because he wanted an actual date, but because he wanted the human's time. He can feel contentment radiating outward, but there is still a little bit of hesitation there. He doesn't want to impose.

"Stiles is right, Pup. We can have a family night. Come on. Stiles, you can call Ms. McCall from the car." The two of them gently herd Isaac out of Stiles' room, the beta can't help but wonder if they actually look like a family. Sure, neither Alpha is old enough to be his parent, but he doesn't care. They are a family. His Alphas even said so!


	6. The Sheriff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the chapter that gave me the most pause. I originally planned on having the Sheriff's part center around Stiles getting in an accident, and the Sheriff witnessing how Derek is with him, but that was just going to be -way- too much angst.
> 
> So, after taking a vote, I went with this idea instead. It involves fluff but with a bit of seriousness as well. I hope everyone enjoys!

* * *

John has not felt this happy and content since Claudia passed. It's amazing, having Stiles and Isaac under foot. Since the teen moved in, more of the Pack has been dropping by and for the first time since Claudia, the house feels like a -home- again. 

When Stiles first told him about the existence of the supernatural world, he had thought the boy was trying to play him. That he had gotten so deeply into something that the only way to dig himself free was to make an extravagant lie. Of course, when he found out that werewolves were -real-, he had pulled his boy close and hugged him within an inch of his life to apologize for not believing him. His son had needed him and what had he done? Gotten angry, pushed him away, neglected him. 

Maybe that is why he is okay with the pack, now. Because they were there for him while all of this craziness was going down. They protected him, while he protected them, and John just couldn't take that away from him. That's not to say that he hadn't considered it. Because he did. In fact, he had originally planned on quitting his position and getting Stiles the hell out of California. Maybe the US altogether. He couldn't help but think that the Whittemores had the right idea with Jackson, if they knew he was a werewolf or not.

But, after the first time he saw the entire Pack together .. he knew he could -never- do that. Not to Stiles, and not to them. The way they all seemed to flock to one another .... the way that they gravitated to each other and the way they worked together .. they were a family and there was no way that he could split that up.

He's damn glad he didn't. Because they're his family now, too. He loves it when Erica comes over to watch television, when Isaac and Stiles curl up on the couch to do homework. Even Boyd has begun to come around, sharing his Mom's recipes with Stiles or stretching out to watch a football game with him. 

In fact, the only two people who don't seem to come over are Scott and Derek.

Now, Scott he understands. The teen hasn't been around in over two months. He has been forced to watch his son moping at the absence of his brother, and he couldn't do anything to help him. Going to talk to him would've been useless. No kid wants their parent to butt in when things aren't going right. And now, well ... now, he's pretty sure that Stiles has finally begun to work it out. At least, he hopes so.

But Derek .. that is the one that surprises him. The Alpha only comes over when the entire pack is present, and that makes no real sense to him. Though, he has cultivated a few theories. Beginning with the thought that he might think the Sheriff doesn't want him over, given the fact that he has arrested him after Scott called in the cops. Oh, and the manhunt that Scott also incited after the school incident. In truth, John doesn't care about that. It's not as if Derek had any control over what some teenager said about him. He had been a person of interest, sure, but he was proven innocent. He didn't do anything wrong. So, why would John keep him away because of that?

Of course, his other theory is that Derek isn't ready to admit that he's in love with his son. (Though, one would think with the fact that they are dating, it would be expected that there are feelings there.)

Those two have -never- been subtle. When he pulled Stiles out of his cruiser, it was easy to tell the kid was flustered, and it was only partially due to the fact that he got caught out by his old man. Add to that the way the kid was freaking out when he owned up to knowing Derek better than he let on, and it was pretty obvious to him that his son had a thing. A Lydia-type thing, in fact. (And does it make him a horrible Father that he's actually happy that Stiles' thing for Lydia is gone? He doesn't want his only kid to end up with some self absorbed little girl that doesn't seem to understand an entire world exists outside of her own needs. Seriously, he would rather his son end up with the powerful, ex-murder suspect werewolf than the arrogant, narcissistic human girl.)

He snorts lightly before he glares down at the file folder in front of him. The case has long since run cold and that pisses him off more than he wants to admit. He also refuses to admit that he's considering leaving the file out so that Stiles can see it. His boy is a treasure, on many levels. One of them, is a level where he can take utter chaos and make something sensible out of it. The kid has given him clues on more than one cold case, and it makes Papa Stilinski proud! That son of his is going to make one hell of a serve and protect one day, no matter what version he becomes.

"Hi!" He blinks, shaking his head to clear it when he hears a familiar voice in the air. "I'm here to see the Sheriff, if he's not busy?" John grins, full of fondness and amusement, because even now the kid can't just call him John. It's oddly endearing, knowing that he has the respect of a supernatural creature that does just as much as he does, to keep Beacon Hills safe. 

"I .. uhm .. the Sheriff, right. And you are?" John rolls his eyes and groans at the breathy, flirtatious way his deputy addresses the guy. A part of him immediately goes on the defensive, ready to poke his head out and holler at the woman to stop getting flustered by his son's boyfriend. The other part of him, though ... yeah, that part is more than happy to hear how Derek will handle this. (Once again, Stiles is his -only- child, okay? He's allowed to feel protective, to want to test the guy sniffing around and make damn sure he's worthy of his son. Alpha or not!)

"Uhm, Derek. Derek Hale." The woman makes a soft sound and John groans again. He's two seconds from telling her to take the day off, but the truth is, that he needs all of his deputies on duty right now. He can't afford to kick her out for annoying him.

"Oh, wow .. you're a lot cuter than they made you out to be. So, why do you need to see the Sheriff? Nothing official, I hope?" Oh god, he can hear the sugary sweetness of her voice and he is considering smacking his forehead on his desk before he puts the file away. Prepared to go and rescue him.

"Uhm .. okay." Derek sounds a little on edge, and John frowns at that. "It's really none of your business, deputy. It's -mine-. Can you please tell John that I'm here?" John grins at that, lights up a little bit, and walks out to the door. When he opens it, the woman is outwardly leering at the werewolf, who looks really uncomfortable.

"Derek! It's good to see you again, son. Come on back." Derek visibly relaxes, stepping as far away from the deputy as he can before he passes into the Sheriff's office. "Sorry about her. Apparently, she doesn't understand the back off vibe. Have a seat, son." He waves a hand toward the chair in front of his desk. Smiles faintly as he thinks of all the times Stiles has brought him lunch at work, settled there, and discussed cases with him. Or, well, tried to needle information out of him. 

"Thank you, Sheriff." Derek flashes him one of those rare, real smiles, and John can't help grinning back. Once they are both seated, Derek pulls up a cloth bag and sets it on the desk top. John's nostrils immediately flare and he snorts in amusement.

"Uh-huh ... there's -no way- that whatever you brought, is Stiles-sanctioned." Derek's eyes go wide and he can't help it, he looks around quickly. Because they are both perfectly aware that Stiles has spies in place -every where-! 

"No, no it is not. And if you say one word, I will deny it." The Alpha grins at the Sheriff and reaches in to unpack the bag. "I cooked at my place, aired it out, and washed every dish I used. Even -Stiles- shouldn't be able to figure it out. I made enchiladas." He holds a tupperware container out, and John practically whines as he grabs it.

"Your secret is safe with me, kiddo. This smells delicious." As Derek grabs forks and a thermos of tea, the Sheriff replays what the werewolf said, and erupts into laughter. "Wait, wait ... are you saying ... that you employed -subterfuge- on my -son-, so that he wouldn't know you cooked me a delicious meal?" When the wide-eyed young man nods slowly, John's laughter turns into a near roar of amusement. "I gotta say, if -this- is how you choose to try and impress me, I fully approve, son." Derek's cheeks erupt in a blush and he actually fumbles the fork into his own container, causing John's smile to soften so much. Okay, it's official. He kinda adores his son's boyfriend. 

"I, uh, .. okay, so maybe I did employ subterfuge, but .. you know he means well, John. And I swear, I'll get him to realize that occasionally cheating on your diet isn't the end of the world. I tried to tell him that your heart sounds fine, but he can be really stubborn about the people he cares about. Eventually, though, I think he'll let up." John leans back in his seat, watching the Alpha ramble on. It's the most the man has ever said to him, and it doesn't really surprise him in the least that it's in defense of Stiles' actions. Because he has only ever seen one man this in love, and he really doesn't want to think about it.

"Stiles will always be worried about me, Derek. It's okay, really. I know he does it out of love, which is why I only bitch playfully and go along with it." He shovels a bite into his mouth, groaning at the taste. "But yes, the sooner he okays things like this, the sooner I can stop pretending to like that tofu crap. Honestly, tofu is the taste of sadness, son. I swear it." 

"I, uh .. I wouldn't know, sir. Stiles can't force me to eat that stuff. Perks of being .. special. There is literally no basis on which he can forbid me from having meat and potatoes if I want it. In fact, that's pretty much my go-to if I want to annoy him." 

"Ah, right. Because of course, you're even immune to cholesterol. Just wait, kiddo. Stiles will find a way to strong arm you into doing things the way he wants. Though, he's pretty good about making sure things are a partnership when they need to be." After a moment, he reluctantly sets the delicious food to the side, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms as he watches the Alpha before him. It doesn't take long for the werewolf to begin squirming and this secretly pleases the Sheriff so much. It's wonderful knowing that he can cow something so powerful, especially when that something is dating his son.

"So tell me, Derek .. what really brings you here. You've been dating Stiles for two and a half months, son, and this is the first time you've showed up here with lunch. What's up?" The Alpha seems to consciously hunch his shoulders down, and the Sheriff is struggling not to actively worry. This is not typical behavior of the werewolf.

"I came here for a few reasons, sir." The werewolf seems to steel himself, slowly sitting up to his full height again. "First .. thank you, for letting Zac stay with you." The Sheriff relaxes almost instantly at the mention of the Pup. Yes, even -he- refers to Isaac as pup in his head, because he really, really is. The kid has the ability to calm John almost instantly. "I know he's been worried about imposing, and despite what Stiles tells him, he still worries. So, thank you, for making him feel welcome."

"No problem, Derek. I've loved having the pup around. He's been great. You know Isaac is welcome for as long as he needs and wants, to stay." John can't help the fond smile, his eyes going a little distant when he thinks of how much happier home seems with the teen there. Stiles seems to have perked up so much. He mothers the boy, though John is not so silly as to speak those words out loud. Because Stiles would probably stop and that would -not- be good. "And you know, any time you want to stay, you can, Derek. I trust you, son." 

He's not really expecting the words to have an impact on the other man. But they do. His hands go lax, his head snaps up, and his eyes glow that intimidating red that instinctively puts the protector in John on edge .. but that also awakens the fatherly instinct in the man. Every time he has seen Derek flash those eyes, he has secretly wanted to wrap the kid up in a hug and tell him that it's going to be okay. That he has people to watch out for him now.

"I .. uhm ... thank you, John, that means a lot to me." The werewolf shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his hands falling down to twine against his stomach as he seems to fight through a blush. Wow. The big bad wolf, blushing, over acceptance. That makes John feel a little smug. (Stiles gets that from him, of course.)

"Derek .. you have to know something, kiddo." John slowly unfurls his arms. Leans over the desk until he has the full attention of the werewolf in front of him. "Even if ... you and Stiles weren't together, you'd still always be welcome at the house. You're a good person, a hell of a good Alpha, and I hope that you realize that I care about you and your pack." He hesitates for a moment, considers holding this last part in, but there seems to be no point, in the end. So, he clears his throat and reaches out to clap the Alpha on the shoulder. "Even if you weren't with Stiles, I'd open my home to you, call you son, and always hope for the best for you, Derek." 

The Alpha looks as if he's panicking for a moment, though after a few steady breaths, the fight or flight instinct seems to have vanished. He leans back in his seat, head dropped and shoulders hunched once more.

"That being said ... I feel the need to give you the obligatory speech, Alpha or not." Derek's eyes go wide, an ironic deer caught in the headlights look that just makes John's day. The werewolf fumbles for something to say, and it's a Father's intuition that the man is going to come up with the wrong conclusion. 

The fact that Derek thrusts his hands up and out in front of him in what can only be viewed as a placating gesture, his cheeks fill with enough color to be visible despite all the stubble, and his eyes manage to somehow get bigger and -rounder-, pretty much proves John's point. That Derek has reached a hilariously erroneous conclusion about the type of speech he is prepared to give. (He's pretty sure that this will lead to mortification on both of their behalf, but he thinks it will be worth it! How often do you get to see an Alpha werewolf squirm!?)

"No! I mean, we haven't .. I haven't .. I wouldn't .. oh crap." Okay, so the Alpha has definitely been spending a lot of time around Stiles to have defaulted to oh crap. "Stiles and I are -not- doing .. anything .. like that! I promise, John. There, uh, there's no need for that talk --"

"Derek! Take a deep breath and calm the hell down. I did -not- mean -that- talk!" 

"... thank god. I'm gonna just .. sit here .. and die a little ... because of .. reasons." Yeah, way too much time spent with Stiles! But still, it amuses John no end to see the Alpha all flustered and embarrassed, and he almost grants the younger man a reprieve from the conversation. Almost. (Once again, see ONLY son for reason why he can't let him off the hook.)

"Ah hell, Derek, you've been spending way too much time with Stiles. You're starting to talk like him." Though there is no true reprimand in the words, only a soft hint of pride. The Sheriff leans forward, making sure that the werewolf is looking him straight in the eye. "What I meant, when I said talk, is this; if you hurt my son, Derek .. I will find whatever silver bullets I can and end you." There is a clear and present threat of violence being promised in this statement. He makes sure that he doesn't break eye contact, makes sure that Derek absorbs every single word and the weighty meaning behind them.

"... wolfsbane." The Alpha growls the word, causing John to tense in confusion for a moment. "Silver won't do anything, John. But Wolfsbane? Shoot that into any part of me, and it will eventually be lethal. Hell, shoot me directly in the heart and I'm dead." The Alpha takes a deep breath, before he leans forward, staring the human in the eyes. "Because if I hurt Stiles, you should know the correct way to end me. And I'll damn well let you, sir." John doesn't have to be a walking lie detector to know that Derek is telling the truth. Because he can see it .. feel it ... Derek is reacting the same way he himself had reacted with Claudia. It makes something swell and hurt deep inside the man, but he puts off thinking about it for now. There will be time to speak to her and cry later. Much later.

"That's good to know. Real good to know." Silence seems to descend on them for the moment, each man finishing his meal before Derek seems to slip into an even more serious mode. In fact, John can recognize both the Alpha and the boyfriend in that look, so he braces himself. Because he recognizes that look, and there's a chance it really isn't going to bode well for him. That he is likely to hear something he really doesn't want to.

"There's one last reason I'm here, Sheriff." Okay, that just skyrocketed the percentage of not good up by about 12%, a least. He crosses his arms in front of himself and leans back in his chair. Perfectly braced for whatever is about to happen. "And it's about you. There's no easy way to say this, so blunt it is, John. You're going to cut back your hours here. I know you have an active case and that you're a little short handed .. but you're still going to do it." The human almost expects the red Alpha eyes to be flashed, but they aren't. So, this is his son's boyfriend issuing him an order, not the local Alpha. He's not sure if that makes it better or worse. "... you're killing your son, John. I know that's harsh, and blunt, but it's the truth. You're killing him. He is overworked, underappreciated, he's barely sleeping. Hell, the -only- reason he was able to keep everyone's secret is because you were never home, never checked to see if he was actually where he said he was." 

John sucks in a sharp breath, hands spasming where they are curled against his arms. He isn't sure if he wants to slap the other man for daring to say all of this, or reach for his gun. Either way, he really isn't happy.

"And you know him, sir. Stiles blames all of this on himself. You know, he actually got drugged at one point, and when everyone was seeing the worst things ever, he had a vision of you. You were telling him how horrible he was. How he killed his mother and ruined your life by surviving, because you were saddled with a hyperactive screw up for a son." Oh, wow. So, this must be what Stiles used to feel like, when he was about to have a panic attack. The Sheriff's vision goes a little dark at the edges, his breath catches in his throat as if someone has simply blocked it up and won't allow the breath through. "And we both know that Stiles is -never- going to talk to you about it. That he will swallow down this pain and let it ruin him before he will 'burden' you with it. It's the same reason he never told you about Scott, or me. Because he is afraid that single wrong step, and you will finally be through with him." Slowly, Derek pushes his chair back, stands from it and leans forward. He braces himself against the worn wood by pressing both fists flat against the surface. "I know what it's like .. not to have parents. Laura .. she did the best she could, but she was always my Alpha first and my family second. That nearly destroyed me .. and I'm not a tenth as good and decent a person as your son is. If you keep going this way, Stiles is going to kill himself laboring under the impression that you are literally a single act away from never loving him again. I can't ... -won't- sit by and watch that happen to him, John. I care too much about him." 

Speechless would not be an accurate enough word. Nor would gobsmacked, overwhelmed, or any other. Hell, furious barely covers it! He is fighting down the reaction to reach for his gun and -hurt- the werewolf for hurting him, but he has been a leveled headed man most of his life. And he knows that pain is -not- the correct course. Because Derek is speaking the truth. As cruel and wounding as it may seem, it is nothing more or less than the absolute truth.

"I'm not gonna lie. I really want to shoot you right now."

"Too much paperwork, not to mention the explanations of how I got shot in the -precinct- without showing a wound a few minutes later. Not worth it. But if you want, follow me out to the Preserve tonight and take your best shot, Sheriff. Just as long as it ends with you agreeing to be there for your Son." Those words .. not the BS at the beginning that screams of the same kind of snark that Stiles' exhibits, but the words at the end. That Derek would -let- him shoot him, as long as it means something good for Stiles. That more than anything, cements it all for him.

"You're right. About -every thing-, Hale .. I have a lot to make up for. I know I do. I .. god, I have screwed up with that kid in so many ways. If Claudia were still alive --"

"No. Shut up right now, John. None of that crap. Because she -isn't- here, and all that line of thinking does is mess you up more. Makes it easier to push all this crap to the side and hope it goes away. That won't cut it, not this time." John winces, nods vaguely as he tries to get his brain back on track. Tries to finish absorbing every thing that Derek has said.

"Right ... you're right son." John reaches up, pinches the bridge of his nose and then rubs a hand down his face. "I promise, Derek, I'll do better." The older man pushes himself to his feet and after a moment, he walks right around the desk and drags Derek into a hug that obviously surprises the werewolf. And yet, is returned almost instantly. "Thank you, Derek. Stiles is damn lucky to have you."

"You too, sir." Derek squeezes him and then lets go, moving to gather up their stuff. "I'll let you get back to it, John. See you later." John follows the werewolf out to the main room, watching him leave the building.

"Malone! Do me a favor, get the duty roster for me, please?" A new recruit appears with the request, glancing toward the door.

"Who was that, sir?" John glances between the door and the new recruit, and he really can't help the blindingly proud smile from forming. "Pretty sure that's my future son-in-law, Malone. Excuse me." He yanks the roster open, already formulating a plan that will allow him to be home more often, to spend more time with his sons and the Pack.


	7. Greenberg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that I slowed down on updating, everyone! I went to see IT last night, which was so awesome there aren't even -words- for it! But hopefully, there will be a few updates tonight!

* * *

Yeah, so his family is legit cray-cray, okay? It might be a bit taboo for him to think it, or maybe it's just the trendy thing to be annoyed with your family, but whatever. His Dad is a stand-up comic that doesn't know how to turn it off, his Mom is a housewife straight out of the 50's (Or straight from Stepford, however you want to look at it), and his younger brother is a dysfunctional little moron that can't seem to get his head out of his backside long enough to do a single thing right. 

Anyway, the crazy nature of his family is the reason he has spent most of his time visiting his hometown, anywhere but -at- home. The agenda for tonight; The Jungle. He cannot remember Beacon Hills having a gay club when he was growing up, because he would've spent every weekend there, if not part of the week as well. Dancing, music, lights, and alcohol? There is not a better recipe for a good time, as far as he's concerned. 

So, to find out that Jungle existed, and that his little brother is -definitely- too young to get in ... well, it became his new nightly destination. (The magnificent eye candy is a major bonus!) 

Unfortunately, there seems to be a reoccurring theme in this place. He has yet to get hit on, asked to dance, or even had a drink bought for him. That is a -serious- blow to his ego! Even back in High School, he never had to -work- for attention. If he were being a little less generous, he would blame this all on that Stilinski kid. Maybe even on Derek Hale. Having both of them ignore his advances consecutively had pretty much destroyed the way he sees himself. And yes, that might be a tad bit melodramatic, but whatever. He was turned down by the two hottest people he's ever seen, and given absolutely no reason for it. In fact, his flirting had basically been outright -ignored- and that is just BS, okay? He's had -straight- guys respond to his flirting, damn it! What made those two so freakin' special!?

"Jack and coke." He mumbles out his standing order, not bothering to watch the moderately good looking man pour his drink. He had found out the boring way that the man was straight and only here because a lot of guys tipped well when the bartender was straight. Something about hoping to covert. The conversation had mostly gone in one ear and out the other. (Though even the -straight- bartender had been more willing to hold a conversation with him than Stiles and Derek had been. But hey, he's not bitter in the -least-!)

When the plastic cup his shoved toward him, he pays for the drink and scans the crowd again. Imagine his surprise when he sees none other than Stiles Stilinski, who is not only the same underage bracket as his brother, but also the -Sheriff's- son, sitting at a bar stool. Greenberg can't decide if this is reward or punishment. In the next breath, he decides he doesn't care. He smooths a hand down his dark green silk shirt and decides to head on over. If nothing else, maybe he can have a little fun teasing the guy. Anything is better than moping into his drink, right?

"You must have one -hell- of a fake ID, Stiles." Maybe not the smoothest opener, but he hopes it is playful enough to score -some- kind of reaction.

"Uhm .. not that it's any of your business or anything. Erm .. who are you?" Oh, wow. Just .. wow. He can feel his ego splintering further. Can actually feel the metaphorical shards breaking free and crumbling to diamond dust at his feet. How the -hell- can this -kid- not remember him!? 

"Oh. Um. Greenberg. We met at the bleachers a few months back?" He nearly holds his breath in anticipation, hoping against hope for a little recognition. It comes in the form of a narrowing of Stiles' eyes as the teenager seems to struggle with something.

"Oh, right. Gerry's older brother. Graham, was it?" He swallows a groan of disappointment, as Stiles once again gets his name wrong. Were he a slightly more cynical person, he'd think the teen was doing it on purpose, but he refuses to be that jaded. 

"Gordon, actually ... Gordon Greenberg." He forces himself to smile, trying to keep every thing lighthearted. Because honestly, this is a reality check he had hoped to never encounter!

"Oh, right! I'm so sorry. Gordon, of course. Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot last time. I was having a hell of an off day, and my friends had needed me, so I cut out of there kinda rudely. My bad." Stiles reaches out and squeezes his shoulder lightly and he tries really, really hard not to melt into the touch and start to think about the wodnerful future dates he may be able to coax out of the teen. 

"Nah, it's cool. I totally understand, man. You were late and I was just making it worse." He flashes his sexiest yet sweetest smile and Stiles smiles sweetly in return. His heart may or may not jump a little. "So, can I buy you a drink to help with that wrong foot?" The teen looks around for a moment, and Greenberg struggles not to hold his breath again. That cannot be an action he takes every time he's around this guy. 

"Sure, thanks. Just a 7up, please." He can't help but quirk a brow. If the kid had an ID good enough to get in, surely he had one good enough to get some booze? And besides, if he's the one buying it, they weren't going to ID Stiles, so why go for soda? The guy is one hell of a puzzle and he really, -really- hopes he gets the chance to figure him out.

"Sure, Stiles." He orders the soda, before he slides onto the stool next to the other guy, angling his body toward the teen. Once the drink is delivered, he reaches out to clink the cups, grinning. "So, tell me a little bit about yourself?" It seems the easiest way to engage the younger man.

"Oh, well, uhm... I'm not really sure where to start? I mean, I'm in school with Gerry, which you know. I'm on the lacrosse team, though I don't really get to play much." The teen shifts uncomfortably, and there's a bit of a blush on his cheeks.

"Okay, uh, how about this? Any ideas about college? Any clue what you want to do with your life?" Okay, those might be 'heavier' questions, but it's not like the kid is giving him anything to work with, here!

"Oh god, dude, college is -way- too far away for me to be thinking about right now! I mean, I'll end up going where all my friends go, probably, I guess. And it'll be something in the line of ... serve and protect. I really respect my Dad, and even if I don't want to be a Sheriff like him, I definitely want to do something that protects people." Huh. He had, in -no- way, pictured Stiles as the type to go for something so dangerous. Something that would put his life on the line for a bunch of strangers. 

"Wow, that's kinda noble, man. I gotta say, though, I didn't really peg you for the type to risk your life for total strangers or anything. I mean, isn't that, like, a -really- dangerous life?" Somewhere behind him, someone erupts into loud barks of pealing laughter. The kind of rich guffaws that start deep in the stomach and erupt out because they just can't stay down.

"Oh. Uhm. Okay." Stiles' eyes have narrowed and he cants his head so that he can see over Gordon's shoulder. Apparently, he's staring at someone, though his gaze shifts back to him after a moment. "I didn't realize I put off any kind of vibe. So, what about you? What did you get your degree in?" 

He wriggles a little on his stool, feeling his cheeks heat, flushing in shame though he's trying to play it all off. "Oh, well, I'm taking time off at the moment, actually. I was originally going for a degree in history. I thought about becoming a teacher. But, uh .. well, I mean ... teaching probably isn't for me. And history was a lot harder than I thought it was going to be. That's just too much to try and remember, you know? I also considered a research degree, but hell no! God, only the nerdiest nerd could spend -all- that time researching." The guffaw behind him once more erupts, a hand slapping against the wood of the bar in a way that must sting like hell.

Stiles' eyes have narrowed to serpentine slits, and his lips have thinned into a tight, cool smile. Huh. Did he say something wrong? He watches as a muscle jumps under Stiles' eye, and he once more looks over the shoulder, maybe at the one laughing? 

"Right ... so ..." Stiles drinks almost half of his soda down, still narrow eyed and less than impressed. Or all that friendly any more, either. What on earth did he do wrong this time?! "Not here with any friends or anything, Gordon? No one here to hang out with?" There is a note of something in Stiles' voice that he can't really place, but he suddenly wonders if he is being mocked somehow. 

"Nah, not really. Every one I went to school with is gone, save one or two. I see Hale around some times, but he's not really .. that friendly. Kind of an ass, really. Though, you totally wouldn't know him. Every one says he pretty much stays to himself these days, that he's become a bit .... weird.. There's Marta, but she and I weren't really friends back in the day." He wrinkles his nose, snorts faintly. The laughter behind him has ratcheted up so loudly, that he's half expecting to hear someone fall off of their stool at this point! Or another patron to tell the rude idiot to shut up!

When he glances back, all hint of a smile has drained from Stiles' face. In fact, he looks two shades of pissed off! He has finished his drink and shoved it onto the bar top. 

"Wow .. I just mean .. yeah, wow. You are too much, dude." Stiles stands and Gordon yelps in surprise when he finds a finger suddenly thrust into his chest. It doesn't hurt or anything, just catches him off guard. "You are -beyond- an asshole, Greenberg. Like, just, light years -beyond-, man. You don't know the first thing about me to make any judgements, let alone -anything- about Derek Hale. Because I do, in fact, know him. A helluva lot better than some jackass like you. And if Marta doesn't want any thing to do with you, that really doesn't speak well of you. Marta is the -best-. But you? I really just want you to disappear before I knee you in the family jewels. You're just as bad as your brother!" His mouth falls open in utter confusion and surprise when Stiles bows up as if prepared to try and hit him. What is even -more- surprising .... he actually feels a little scared. He has a feeling that Stiles could do a lot more damage than his build suggests, and he did -not- come here to be assaulted or called names. 

"Stiles." The laughter has cut off abruptly, and Derek **_freakin_** Hale has appeared out of nowhere at Stiles' elbow. He reaches up, threads his fingers across the nape of Stiles neck and the teen seems to calm instantly. "Come on, baby. Lets go dance." Derek practically beams at Stiles and Gordon has never felt so off kilter before. 

"I think that's a good idea. Oh, Gordon, you remember my boyfriend, right? Derek Hale." Stiles gives him a cold, almost wolfish grin before he grabs Derek's hand and starts to tug him in the direction of the dance-floor. "I can't believe you did that! Left me to deal with that dickhead, while you just say back and -laughed-. God, Der-Bear, you are the -worst- sometimes!" His eyes narrow and he barely manages not to scoff, pretty sure he wasn't supposed to hear that.

"Come on, Stiles. You're always telling me you can take care of yourself. All you had to do was tell him to go away, that you were waiting for someone. Besides, come -on-! It's hilarious, how much he got wrong with a single conversation. It was really funny, baby, and you know it." He barely catches a glimpse of Derek leaning over to brush a kiss across Stiles' temple and he really just wants to become a country cliche and cry into a beer right about now. How the hell did those two manage to find each other and hook up? Not to mention, how the hell is the rest of the world supposed to survive it!?

He huffs and grabs up his drink, draining it despite the burn.

"Yo! Whiskey on the rocks, top shelf." He makes grabby hands at the cup, drinking a good portion of it down. It ain't beer, and their ain't no tears, but it's still a moment all about the manpain! He continuously cautions himself not to .. is running an inner monologue about how -bad- it is, how much more it's going to hurt, but he just can't stop himself.

He glances up in enough time to hear some heavy techno beat song begin and it stabs right through him. He wants to dance, but what would be the point? He's gotten no real attention tonight, has he? And besides, he can't make himself leave this spot when his gaze catches on Stiles and Derek. Dancing. Together.

He actually reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose, wondering if a headache is imminent.

Stiles .. Stiles hips are deadly, okay? There is no better way to describe them! The way they sway, slowly circling and then grinding, it conjures images of sweaty bodies and thin sheets. The way his hands are dug into Derek's sides are both possessive and claiming. He's pretty sure that if anyone so much as bumps Derek, Stiles is going to go off on them.

And Derek? As if the hot like burning body and the gorgeous features weren't enough, he moves like something wild barely tamed. Like he is owning Stiles right there on the dance-floor. His hands are large and probably heavy where they are threaded along Stiles' hips. Their two bodies slot together with barely any room between them, and every time Stiles body sways, Derek's rocks and it is a bump and grind of clothed sex. 

When Derek leans forward to bite at Stiles' neck, he's done. Just done! He swallows down the last of his whiskey and pushes off of the stool. He's wobbly and stiff, and laughs bitterly.

"Guess I got a date with my hand. How the hell is this fair!?" And yeah, he's whining, but he has the right to, okay? With a pout, he slinks away from Jungle, contemplating leaving town again.


	8. Erica

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem stanzas are from Pablo Neruda.

* * *

Usually, she wouldn't ever admit to hiding, but that's exactly what she's doing. She's hiding. From the pack. During a pack meeting. Because that totally seems like a good idea, right? There really is no way to be more obvious about hiding than during a pack meeting. Though, to be fair, the actual meeting portion of the night has been over for almost half an hour, so she's not intentionally missing anything important. She's just skipping out on the cuddling while stuffing their mouths with turkey burgers and watching some stupid or sappy movie. It's not even that she doesn't enjoy the bonding time or anything, it's just that she has found something else to capture her attention. 

A something that she is -not- prepared to admit to, though! Like, not even on pain of -death- would she blurt this secret out. Because it's so stereotypical and gender normative, that she's pretty sure her Pack Mom would moan about it. Also pretty sure that Boyd and Isaac would laugh their asses off at her. In short, it would destroy her carefully cultivated badass image and she's worked too hard to get that title to let it be destroyed in an instant.

Because gender normative BS dictates that it is feminine to read poetry. That someone badass, manly, or powerful cannot possibly read poetry. So, if she is sitting here, half buried in the nest of aromatic bedding on Stiles' bed, reading the book of poetry by Pablo Neruda that she watched him buy a few months back, she cannot be the badass everyone in the pack has come to know.

But that is -exactly- what she is doing. She's curled on her side, back to the door, the book open on the bedding beside her. One hand is thrust deep into her hair, holding her head up as she devours the words on the page. 

_****_

__**I don't love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,  
** or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:  
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,  
secretly, between the shadow and the soul. 

She actually whimpers as she reads. God, does love like that actually exist?? She immediately pictures her parents.

Not the ones that actually created and gave birth to her. No, not those parents. They are ... neglectful at best, and invisible at worst. They've never done anything bad to her or anything. There was no physical or mental abuse, no emotional bullying or anything of that nature. Mostly, they just gave up on her. When they realized that she would have seizures for the rest of her life, she became the burden named Erica, and nothing more.

When she says parents, she's talking about her Pack Mom and Pack Dad. Sure, none of them have the courage to say those words to their faces yet, but every one of them thinks it. When Isaac said that he almost slipped up, almost called Derek Dad, Erica had nearly suffered a sugar induced coma. Because Isaac calling Derek Dad is pretty much the sweetest, fluffiest thing she has -ever- heard of. Because it's Isaac. And she's pretty damn sure that if he -had- slipped up, Derek would've loved it. 

That's something else that she has noticed, lately. Their Pack Dad Alpha is basically just a huge, fluffy marshmallow that is sickeningly in love with their Pack Mom Alpha. In fact, Erica is hard pressed to think of a single real life example of how much her Alphas seem to be in love. (Sure, there are dozens of fairytales she can equate them to, but not much in the way of real life.) Well, there is a single example she can think of; The Stilinskis.

On days when every one is busy with each other and she has had the time to sit and watch television with Grandpa Stilinski, because if Stiles is Pack Mom, then the Sheriff is Pack Grandpa, he has told her stories about Stiles' Mom. That is the type of epic love story that poetry was created to immortalize. (She has considered asking Deaton if there is any kind of magic that would allow her to meet Grandma Stilinski for just a few minutes. She seems the very definition of awesome, and she has a feeling that she would understand Stiles so much better if she met her.) 

_****_

__**I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries  
** the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,  
and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose  
from the earth lives dimly in my body. 

She swallows down a whimper and a sigh, turning so that she can bury her face against Stiles' pillow. She wants to swoon. Something else that definitely doesn't fit her badass persona, but is something she wants to do all the same. Her finger idly traces the words on the page, half lidded eyes staring off into the distance for a moment.

The words make her shiver. It's almost as if the poem had been penned by Derek and then hidden until Stiles could find them. Because it speaks of the two Alphas so fully, that it makes her ache. Since Stiles came to the Pack, since he found his place among them and managed to open himself up to Derek, the two have shared this sense of inner light that she is crazy jealous of. She wants, just once, for someone to look at her like that. As if she hung the moon, seeded the earth, and brought light to all of creation. She sniffles softly, knowing that no tears will threaten, let alone fall. 

She is through crying. Spent too many days soaked in bitter salt water for all the pain and segregation her illness had caused. She promised herself, once she took The Bite, that she would -never- cry again. Would never be -weak- again! She glances down at the book, biting at her bottom lip as she contemplates the pages. Is it weak to seek love? Weak to -want- someone to lean upon??

**__**

**_I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,_  
** I love you directly without problems or pride:  
I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,  
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,  
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,  
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.

She blinks rapidly, surprised to find the familiar burn of tears at the corners of her eyes, even after reminding herself of her promise. She growls, low and sub-vocal, refusing to allow them to fall. She -just- went over this, damn it! After a moment of hesitation, she slams the book shut and contemplates throwing it against the wall, or out the window, for good measure. But she can't. She really, really can't. Mostly because it's not actually her book, but also because it would hurt Mamma Stiles and there's no way in hell she's going to risk that. (She hurt him once already and she still hates herself for doing that. Stiles didn't deserve to be thrown away like a piece of trash, and she will never forgive herself for doing that. Even though she knows that Stiles, as awesome as he is, has already forgiven her. He doesn't hold mistakes against those he loves.)

She glares at the book as if it has personally offended her, and nuzzles deeper into Stiles' pillow.

Despite how hard she worked to cultivate her image, she shed it the second she got into Stiles' room. Wiped off her makeup, shucked her skirt and blouse, and borrowed a pair of his pajama pants and a tank top she's pretty sure she's never seen him wear. Though it still smells so comfortably of her human Alpha, since it was in the same drawer with all of his other shirts. 

It actually surprises her, how quickly she and every other beta took to Stiles as their human Alpha. Of course, it was nowhere near as astounding as the fact that Derek has become such a sweet, kind, loving Alpha. They have become a true family and she knows part of that is because Stiles has managed to bring them all together. He helped them understand what pack means, ironic given the fact that he's a human. But then, he's the Boy Who Runs With Wolves. He tends to be as wild, feral, and wolfish as any of them.

"Is every thing okay, Petal?" She nearly jumps, but manages by some miracle, to remain still when Stiles' voice takes her by surprise.

"What the hell did you just call me, Stilinski??" She tries to infuse some kind of hard edge into her voice, but it mostly just comes out as tired and slightly teary. Though she will deny that last bit. The soft, muffled thud of shows announces his arrival at the bed, but she refuses to roll over and face him. Refuses to let her Alpha see the tears swimming in her eyes.

"I called you Petal, Erica. Because you are. You're an exotic Petal that is both beautiful and dangerous as hell. The kind that enthralls you with it's brightness and then takes you down before you know what hit you." Huh. She actually -preens- under that assessment, reaching up to run her fingers through her hair to fluff it up a little bit. Despite the complete lack of badass in the petname, she likes it. _Wants_ it, in fact. After all, her Mamma did give it to her.

"... thanks, M-- Stiles." She cuts herself off, internally cursing at nearly letting the other name slip. She feels the bed shift behind her, and on instinct, she scoots forward. Grabs the book and carefully shoves it up, under the pillow. Hoping that Stiles hadn't seen it when he climbed in behind her. She happily molds herself to her human Alpha, curling back into him as he wraps an arm almost protectively around her.

"Now, why don't you tell me what's bugging you, Petal? And don't tell me it's nothing. I know it's -something-. You're up here when everyone else is downstairs. We miss you, Petal. Even Dad's worried about you." Those words cut right through her. They remind her that no matter what her past, she has a present and a future with the Pack. She -belongs- here, and it's the greatest feeling ever. And yet ... it's still not enough to chase away the longing inside of her.

"Okay. So .. there -might- be something going on ..." She sighs, pushing her cheek into the pillow again as she tries to decide how to do this. Much like Derek, she has trouble vocalizing her feelings. "I .. I don't want to talk about it, Stiles. It's too teenage cliche and stupid and it makes me sound -weak-!" She trembles for a moment, until she feels the arm tightening around her. Feels herself being pulled closer to her human Alpha's form and it calms her almost instantly.

"Petal .. talk to me. You are a badass she-wolf that can hold her own against -anyone-. There is -nothing- you can say that will make you seem weak. I promise, baby girl." She shivers and almost purrs when he nuzzles against the nape of her neck, soothing her.

"Okay." She takes a deep breath, holds it for a moment, and then exhales slowly. "I .. I'm jealous. Of you and Derek." She whispers the words so feather soft that she's not sure the human will be able to hear it, despite how close he is. "It hurt, when you turned me down, Stiles. I mean, well, you didn't actually turn me down, but you know what I mean. It still hurt, realizing that you didn't look at me that way. I get it -now-, but back then? It was so painful, thinking that I wasn't good enough for you." She sniffles, lifts her hand to shove against her eyes so that she doesn't cry.

"Erica Reyes, that is -not- true! How could you -ever- think you weren't good enough for me, Petal!? It wasn't like that, not at all. I love you, baby girl, and I think you are one of the greatest people I've ever known. You're Pack and Family, Erica." She whimpers and manages not to sob in relief as he reassures her of her place. "Now, why in the world would you be jealous of me and Derek? We're snarky assholes." She laughs faintly, shaking her head. Of course, he would miss the entire reason she had said that. Because as smart as her human Alpha is, he can be stupid sometimes.

"Yes, you are both snarky assholes ... in love." She sighs softly, close to a maidenly sigh, but manages to curb it a little bit. At least, enough that she's not that embarrassed. "That being the keywords, Stiles. In. Love. God, not just in love, but like sugary sweet, gooey, embarrassingly in love! If one of you is there, the other will be within ten minutes. Every time you leave the room, Derek pines, Stiles. He PINES! I'm sure he's downstairs scowling and pouting at every shadow because you're up here." She giggles, despite herself. "And you! Oh my GOD, but you go all sullen and silent every time he has to leave. You two couldn't be more in love if you were starcrossed love or some cliche like that, Stiles." She sighs deeply, eyes fluttering closed as she curls back in to him.

"Oh, Petal .." She can feel the heat pouring off of him, and she grins with the knowledge that she has made him blush. "Erica .. you are precious, beautiful, and so very worthy of an epic love, baby girl." She starts to tremble, the emotions building up inside of her needing a way out. "And trust me when I say, that love is -waiting- for you." She can feel his lips twisting into a smirk against her skin and that is confusing. What does -he- know, that -she- doesn't! After a moment of hesitation, she turns so that she's facing him. So that she can see his face and read what is happening there. And sure enough, he has that 'I know something' look. She studies him for a long moment, and then smiles warmly.

"Alright, tell me, Mamma." Her eyes widen when the word slips out and she starts to pull away. Tries to propel herself backward across the bed so that his anger won't reach her. She's not expecting to feel both of his arms tight around her, holding her close to his chest.

"It's alright, Petal. You can call me Mamma. Just, maybe not in front of the others, okay?" He grins sweetly at her and she melts into his arms. Into his protective embrace. "Now, back to that epic bit. You didn't hear this from me, but .... Boyd looks at you, the same way Derek looks at me, Petal. Like you're his light, and every time you walk away, it kills him. But .. well, he's too shy and quiet to say anything about it." Her mouth falls open, she knows she probably looks ridiculous, but she just can't, okay? BOYD?? Likes HER?!? 

There is no universe in which that is true ... right? After all, she knows that he made a pass at Stiles, same as every one else did. Did he do it because he thought she wouldn't be interested? Is she just the consolation prize!? 

"Stop it, Petal. Just stop. You have never, and -will- never, be second place to anyone, do you hear me? You have always been amazing and special. Mamma says so." she laughs. Of course she does. Because that is the very reason he said it, to cut the tension. Every one knows that it's one of Stiles' many superpowers, lightening the moment. "Trust me, baby girl. Go downstairs, sit next to Boyd, and watch him. Really pay attention, okay? He likes you so much. You two will be so good together, Petal." He leans forward to kiss her cheek and she smiles happily.

"Thanks, Mamma. I'm .. I'm still jealous. You and Derek are so perfect for each other, but maybe ... maybe me and Boyd can be good. Alright, lets go." Stiles leans forward and blows a raspberry on her cheek, making her giggle and bat playfully at him.

"That's my girl. Come on, Petal. Lets go watch some movies." Once they climb out of bed, they lock hands and head downstairs. Maybe, if she's lucky, she can find something as epic as her Alphas. Maybe, she won't be that lucky. But, she can at least try!


	9. Special Guest Star

* * *

"Watch where you're going, asshole!" He jumps back toward the curb he had been in the middle of walking off, throwing the bird to the asshole speeding by. His mind has been a wandering mess lately, and it keeps getting him in trouble. If he's not daydreaming, than he's suffering the effects of sleeplessness because of nightmares. So. Many. Nightmares!

"Stupid freakin' asshole. You don't own the road." And now he's muttering to himself. He has found himself holding actual conversations with himself these days, and all he can think is oh great, he's becoming Stiles. (That thought should really be -way- more insulting and terrifying than he finds it to be. Next thing he knows, he'll start rambling and spitting out useless facts for no apparent reason. Oh joy.)

He hitches his backpack higher on his shoulder, glaring at anyone that looks too long at him. He really doesn't want anyones attention. In fact, the thought of attention makes him feel sick to his stomach! Any time someone watches him, he usually hunches his shoulders and moves off as fast as he can. Ducks into an alley or takes the quickest route home. It's a far cry from the old days.

After checking again, he jogs across the street to the opposite side, making sure no other asshole tries to side swipe him or something. He ducks into the shop he had been heading for, plopping gracelessly into a back booth.

"What can I get you?" The waitress, some older woman with a sour face, purses her lips at him as she waits. He shoves his backpack onto the seat next to him and waves her away as he pulls his cellphone from his pocket. He looks it over for messages, missed calls, and voicemails, and then shoves it back into his pocket.

After a quick glance around the shop, he grabs a second cellphone out of his pack and stares down at it. Debating with himself. He usually only pulls this thing out when he's had a really, -really- bad day and needs to be reminded of how truly screwed up life can get. Of all that he left behind. 

Because sometimes, he is stupid enough to want to go back. On those days, before he can call up his parents and beg and whine, he grabs this thing out. Listens to the ghosts from his past and remembers how terrible it all was. How he had once been a monster, and how easily he could accidentally go back to that. (Or, at least, he -fears- it will be easy.) 

So, here he is. Sitting in a shop, staring at a cellphone that he never actually answers. He hesitates this time. There's no melancholia to fight, no reason to remind himself of anything, but he still feels propelled to check it. With a sigh, he scoots down in the seat until his shoulders are below the booth, and turns the phone on. He immediately gets two missed calls and two voicemail alerts and he sighs.

"Damn." He rubs his forehead and after almost talking himself out of it, he dials his voicemail, enters his number, and listens to the first message.

Four words. That's all the message is. Four little words and he can already feel the lone tear track down his cheek. A year ago, those words wouldn't have meant anything. He'd have analyzed them to death until he wanted to pull his hair out as he tried to find every form of hidden meaning behind them. Because that's what he did. Rather than realize that they meant nothing more than the obvious. No one had ever really double spoke to him, he just assumed they did.

He lets his head lull back, against the booth, growling under his breath. He waves the waitress away again, not really caring that he's pissing her off. Yes, he will eventually purchase something, and no, not before he's ready to. He hesitates, and decides to keep the voicemail. 

So, time to move on to the second one. It's full of slurred words and unhappy tears and it rips into his gut with all the pain of a physical maiming. And he would know. He's been maimed a few times. It never gets easier, either. He opens his eyes, staring at the phone as he replays all of the accusatory, pained speech. 

Damn it! He knew that he had screwed up .. but even after all of the voicemails, texts, and horrid words, he had failed to understand that his decisions had effected others. Every single one of the horrors he has tried to escape, had consequences for other people. (Not to mention how outright crappy he had been to every one, even his friends. He really is an asshole.) He debates for nearly five minutes, before he decides to get rid of that voicemail. It was too raw for him to revisit, not without running the risk of actually going through with it and deciding to head back. That way lay madness, not to mention the fact that it would probably undo all the good he has managed to find for himself at this point. 

What the hell!? He drops the phone onto the seat next to him as one pertinent piece of information finally sticks out from the voicemail.

Derek and Stiles!? The Alpha and the Loser!?! He snorts and finally pushes himself to a full sitting position and waves the waitress over. After he has managed to order a cup of tea and some scones, he leans back and stares at the fallen phone. 

Ten minutes later, and the concept isn't as outlandish as it had first seemed. He actually understands it, if he's truthful with himself. And that's something he's gotten a lot better at, these past months. It's so much easier to be truthful than to struggle under the weight of false persona and so many lies that even a Spider wouldn't touch that web.

So. Derek and Stiles. Yeah, okay, he can see it. Stiles is smart, funny, and about as loyal as anyone can be. The idiot had even tried to save him at one point, which was just stupid. He had risked so much to help someone that acted like they hated him. He can see how the big hearted, hyperactive teen could mellow out the Alpha. Could show the fool that caring is not a weakness, and that love could definitely save the day. (As Disney as that BS sounds, he has seen first hand that it actually works. Though he still likes to pretend none of that happened. He ran from her as much as he ran from the situation and the nightmares.)

And Derek .. well, someone needs to be there to save Stiles from himself. As smart as the human is, he can be really stupid as far as his own safety goes. While he admires that about him, he also hates it. The idiot should not be so quick to put himself in harms way. Despite the crappy way he's treated him over the years, he never hated him. Never really disliked him, actually. It was just the way things went, you know? The pressures of being rich and popular meant that he talked down to the 'losers' as everyone else identified them. It never mattered that he found Stiles funny and interesting, or that Scott's undeniable belief in every thing good was worthy of respect. They were the lowest rung on the totem pole, so he had to treat them that way.

He huffs, staring at the cellphone for a long moment. For the first time since he left, he picks it up and opens a text screen. He had worked on a few projects with Stiles, so he has the number saved under 'Bench Warmer.' He chuckles fondly as he pulls up a new text.

_'Heard about you and Derek. Not that surprised, man. Get it, Stilinski! - Jackson'_

He grins lightly at the text before he hits send. Once it shows that it has gone through, he turns the phone off. In the end, he doesn't really care about the response. It's easier to just hope that it's a good one, a friendly one, rather than something snarky and cold like he would deserve. He puts the phone back into his backpack and pays for his tea.

Maybe he's not a part of that life anymore ... maybe he'll never return to Beacon Hills. But, after every thing Stiles and Derek had done for him .. he's damn glad the two managed to find each other. Hell, he's proud of them! At least someone has a chance at a happily ever after, you know?


	10. Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might notice that the rating has changed. That's because there are a few F-Bombs in this chapter, and some making out that went a little past what I had originally planned. It's not explicit or anything, but I felt it these reasons rated a ratings change.

* * *

Today has been perfect. In fact, this entire -week- has been perfect! His Dad has been home more, the pack has been coming over more, and he and Derek see each other every day. If his boyfriend isn't picking him up from school, they are going on a date, or just having dinner with his Dad. Every thing is going so well that he is a little scared. He has never been a doom and gloom kind of guy, it's not really in his nature. Sure, he can recognize a bad situation or the approaching of one, but he has never gone out of his way to find something bad.

However, after getting a front row seat to the supernatural shenanigans that happens in Beacon Hills, he has learned that the other shoe always dropped. Sure, maybe there's no reason to expect it as far as his love life goes, but he can't help it. He's never had a boyfriend before. He's never had someone that he crushed on return his feelings in the -least-, so of course this is going to crash and burn! Because there is no time, outside of a Disney cliche, when your first relationship is forever. And sure, this may not be Derek's first relationship, but it sure as hell is -his-, so something has to give. Something has to happen!

There is no reality in which he will -ever- be good enough for Derek Hale! He jerks to his feet, feeling Derek's hand trail across his arm when he stands. Glancing over shows him exactly what he expected to see; Derek's wide, concerned eyes staring intently at him. They can usually read each other so well, but in this moment, he really, -really- hopes that nothing is showing through. No, this moment feels too much like betraying Derek and he really can't let that happen. Not in -any- way. 

So, he smiles faintly, shakes his head to discourage his boyfriend from following him, and heads into the kitchen. He listens absently as his Dad laughs at something, is in no way surprised that Derek doesn't. His big exit in the middle of the movie is going to leave his sweet boyfriend on edge and worried until he gets back and shows the Alpha that every thing is okay. How in the -hell- is he supposed to do -that-, when he really doesn't think any thing is going to be okay at all!?

He stumbles over to the sink and turns on the cold water. He leans heavily against the sink, eyes closed tight as he shoves his hands under the cold water and lets it pool there. He knows that he only has a few minutes to get his head on straight, get his mind clear, and be okay. Less than ten minutes, actually, before Derek will excuse himself and come in to make sure that he's alright. Because Derek is the best boyfriend imaginable! 

God, who would've thought that the Alpha could romantic, sappy, caring, and, well, -perfect-. See!? That -right- there is the reason that this is going to end. Badly. There's no way in hell that Derek isn't going to 'wake up,' sooner rather than later, and realize that he has saddled himself with a screwed up kid that cannot be a tenth as wonderful as him! After all, Derek does everything in this relationship! He schedules and pays for all of their dates, he cooks when Stiles doesn't have the energy to, he sits through dinner and movies with his Dad, he puts up with Stiles' ADHD and all of his craziness and how can this keep going on!?

He splashes the freezing cold water on his face, hissing and then cursing under his breath, because there's no way in hell Derek wasn't listening from the other room. Which means there's no way that his boyfriend hadn't heard that sound and begun to worry even more. Because that is what beautiful, sweet, caring, loyal, -perfect- boyfriends do! 

Take that ten minutes and cut it down to a soft 4 minutes, if he's that lucky. So, full on breakdown in four minutes or less! How is this his life?! He blows out a harsh, quick breath, being as quiet as he can, before he splashes a second round of cold water on his face and then turns the faucet off.

Okay, how is he going to make this right!? How is he going to make himself get over this!? In ... less than three minutes. Damn it! He turns and heads to the fridge, opening it to grab a bottle of water out. His head is starting to hurt, but it is nothing compared to the ache in his chest. The sudden frailty of his heart is making him feel dizzy and sick. His hand snaps out, fingers tightening around the counter edge as he struggles to keep himself upright. This revelation will not be what finally destroys him! He's been through too much! 

He leans back, hip cocked to the side as he uses the counter top to hold himself up. The water bottle is deposited on the counter quickly, because he cannot trust his fingers not to accidentally let it go and spill it everywhere. He's just about to give up .. just about to let the horror of his thoughts get the better of him when he hears his phone ding in his pocket. His first inclination is to ignore it. The only two people he would really want to talk to at the moment are sitting in the living room. 

But, then he thinks about Petal, Pup, and his mind goes into over drive! What if something is wrong? What if it is an emergency? What if someone needs him!? (See, Scott!? -THESE- are the reasons you should always answer your damn phone!) He growls softly under his breath and then winces, because again, there's no way his boyfriend's supernatural hearing didn't pick that up!

He yanks his phone out, frowning when he sees a text from an unknown number. Because he can't let something curious go without an answer, he opens the text and reads through it. 

_'Heard about you and Derek. Not that surprised, man. Get it, Stilinski! - Jackson'_

He re-reads the message three times .. turns his phone upside down, and then makes a soft Huh sound.

Jackson. Jackson Whittemore. The King of the Douches ... just texted him. To congratulate him on his relationship with Derek. Where's the gotcha? Where's Scott or Erica to jump out and scream April Fools? Not that it's April or anything! Why on Earth would Jackson decide to text him, when to Stiles' knowledge, Jackson hasn't even been in touch with Danny or Lydia?

And what secret code does Not that surprised stand for? Because Jackson can not be straight forward about something like that. There is no reality in which he is being -nice- to Stiles. He almost reaches for the phone again, but manages to stop him. 

It feels .. like a clap of lightening strikes above his head. Jackson Whittemore, who has no reason to care, to lie, or even to -give- an opinion, is not surprised that him and Derek got together. Not only that, but he's -encouraging- about it. That causes an epiphany in the human. If Jackson, who most definitely does -not- have a horse in this race, thinks anything positive about this, how can Stiles doubt it at all!? There is no way the crowned King of Douche has more faith in this relationship than he does.

He turns so that his hands are spread across the counter, anchoring himself as he lets this thought take root and blossom into a new revelation. 

The only logical reason he could have been so utterly terrified about Derek getting over him, is because -- 

"Stiles, baby, what's wrong?? I could hear your heartbeat hammering over the movie." Derek's arms are around him instantly. Hands pressed almost delicately against his chest, measuring the heartbeat he can hear so easily. At the same time, he presses his lips against the nape of his neck, and Stiles feels himself calming instantly. He pushes against the counter, leans himself fully back, against Derek. Forces his heart and breathing to slow back down into a normal register.

"You boys try not to stay up too late, yeah?" Stiles doesn't jump or really react to his Dad's voice as he usually would. He always feels too safe and secure in Derek's arms to be jumpy or scared.

"Alright, Dad!" Both of them call out without any hesitation or anything, and Stiles smiles brilliantly. The fact that Derek is so easily a part of their family .. it will never cease to blow his mind and amaze him. 

"Come on. Tell me what's wrong, Stiles." Derek's voice is silken soft and coaxing, and how the hell does the werewolf not work for the CIA or something!? He could make a diehard Russian spy give up government secrets with that voice! But, at the same time, Stiles is a little afraid. What if he admits to some doubt and hurts Derek so badly that he leaves? Is he being childish for worrying about all of this? He suppresses a whimper and turns, practically throwing his arms around the Alpha and pushing tight against his chest.

Derek is forced to stumble back a few steps, or they would both be spilling across the floor. The second that he's balanced again, his arms are a tight, reassuring cage around the teenager. His lips have found the curve of his throat, kissing and nipping, trying to be comforting, but also obviously worried. 

"Baby, please, you're starting to worry me." Stiles knew the Alpha wouldn't use the word scared if he didn't have to, and he also knows that he's scared. Because he can read Derek like an open book over half the time, the same as Derek can read him. And right now, he is genuinely scared that something is wrong with him and he hates making him feel that way.

"Derek .." But he has absolutely no idea how to explain himself. How to try and tell him what he was feeling, and what he just came to understand. It's heavy, big, too much too soon, even for -them-. 

"Stiles .. p-please .. don't break up with me." Derek's voice has fallen to a hoarse whisper and Stiles nearly backpedals from where he's being clutched close to the Alpha's chest. Is this a joke? -Him- break up with -Derek-!? He snorts softly at the sheer ridiculousness of the statement, and Derek is the one that propels himself away. In fact, he is standing across the room, ready to bolt, before Stiles can register the loss of his warmth. The werewolf whimpers, and it is the most broken sound he has ever -heard-. Like the combination of broken dreams and a shattering heart have fused themselves with the rending of the soul. It pulls a loud whine from the back of his throat and he takes a few steps forward.

"Der-Bear, please. I'm not. I swear. I'm not breaking up with you. God, not -even-, sweetie. I just .. fuck, I thought you were getting ready to break up with me, okay? It ... it feels like you should be breaking up with me, because I really, -really- don't deserve you!" he throws his head back, laughs humorlessly to the ceiling, shivering a little. "You're my Alpha for christ's sake, Derek. You could have -anyone- and you are amazing and the perfect boyfriend, and ..." He knows that he shouldn't say this. This is -not- the moment to say this, because it's still too heavy, but he blurts the words before he can stop himself. "And I love you, Derek Hale. I love you so much it scares me, because I'm so worried you'll get over me and --"

He gasps as lips crash into his. And that's all it can be described as. It's clumsy, desperate, more about their lips connecting than about a proper kiss. It's the reassurance that they are both still here, that neither of them are running or shoving the other one away. 

Strong hands grab him at the hips and lift. In the very next moment, his ass connects with the counter top and the breath is knocked from him in a whoosh. But he really, really doesn't care because in the very next moment, large hands are on him. One cupping his cheek, the other latching onto his hip and yanking him forward until he can feel Derek's abs pressing against his crotch. His own hands reach out, take in fistfuls of Derek's shirt to try and keep his Alpha right there.

"Don't ever fucking scare me like that again, Stiles!" Derek snarls the words against his mouth before devouring it. He can feel the hot, wet press of the Alpha's tongue plundering his mouth, taking it ownership of him in that kiss. As if somehow, that kiss alone, will guarantee Stiles will never go anywhere. (He has no intention of going anywhere, ever!) "Thought you were leaving .. or kicking me out .. thought that we were over ... love you so much, baby." Each break in speech is punctuated by another bruising, intense kiss that robs him of breath.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to. Love you, Derek, always. My Alpha." Each of Stiles' declarations are punctuated by his hands clenching and unclenching in the trapped shirt. After what feels like an eternity, the two pull apart. Put some distance between their mouths, though neither of them let go. He's not sure they will be able to let go any time soon, actually. When he manages to look at Derek, his entire body jerks, sending him grinding against Derek's abs.

His Alpha boyfriend looks utterly obscene! His lips are cherry red, swollen to plump fullness and spit slick. Stiles struggles hard not to throw himself at the werewolf. Because if he does, he's pretty sure there won't be enough bleach to clean this poor kitchen. 

"Stiles." The Alpha growls, his eyes a deep, bloody red, his fangs completely elongated as he struggles to breathe. Each heave of his chest sends it bouncing against the human and brings a small whine to Stiles' lips. "We .. we can't ... it's the -kitchen-, Stiles." The Alpha finally manages to articulate something, and Stiles forcefully pries his hands off of Derek's shirt. Lifts his knee to press against the older man's chest and force Derek backward.

"You're right, Derek. We should stop. But .. I meant what I said. I love you. I'm not breaking up with you .. I couldn't, Derek. I'm a Stilinski, sweetie. When we find the one .. nothing stops us." Derek's eyes go comically wide, his swollen mouth dropping open as he forces himself to take two more steps back, because he looks ready to pounce.

"I .. this is long term for me too, Stiles. Always. I love you, baby." The werewolf takes one more step back, huffing a shaky breath. "But I should go. For now. Because if I don't .. well, you get the idea. I'll see you tomorrow." He turns with difficulty and exits the kitchen and ultimately, the house. 

Leaving Stiles trembling on the counter top as he tries to catch his breath and will himself to calm the hell down!

"... Derek loves me." So slowly he says that, savoring each word on his tongue before he falls back, against the cupboard. "HE LOVES ME!!" He double fists pumps in the air, before sliding weak kneed off the counter top and racing toward his room. Screw the other shoe dropping. Things are perfect for a change and he hopes it stays that way!

**Fin**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, the final chapter!
> 
> I want to thank every one that commented, kudo'ed, and bookmarked. I'm glad that so many people have enjoyed this, I loved writing it!


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